


Penguin's Songbird

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Asexual Character, Bisexuality, Blow Jobs, Boys Kissing, Character appropriate violence, Dark, Dark Imagery, Demisexuality, Enemies, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Relationship, Gay Sex, Hallucinations, Hidden Depths, Hot Tub, Hot Tub Sex, Imprisonment, Injury Recovery, Karaoke, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Master/Pet, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Mention of Ed's childhood, Murder, Nightclub, Nightmares, Nygmobblepot, Partial Mind Control, Perfume, Reference to Child Abuse, Rough Kissing, Singing, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Tuxedos, Underwater Blow Jobs, Underwater Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: Penguin has Ed, his new trophy, sing for him in The Iceberg Lounge in exchange for being freed from his icy prison. But Ed won't surrender without a fight.





	1. You Don't Own Me

Oswald smiles as Ed enters the private VIP room in The Iceberg Lounge.  
It's after hours and the club is empty save for the two of them. Oswald only ever thaws Ed out when they can be alone.  
Ed knows by now to come straight here: all the other doors are locked and the security system is top of the range. Oswald lets him come to the room at his own pace. He always permits him a warm shower as well as a few moments of privacy to collect himself and recover from the worse effects of the ice.  
There’s no rush after all.

As Ed closes the door behind him, Oswald sees Ed is not wearing his green suit. Instead, he is wearing a black tuxedo, a sharp black bowtie at the collar of a crisp white shirt. Oswald had left him the tux and a note instructing him to wear it.  
Ed doesn’t get to wear his chosen armour in here. Oswald has indulged him in the past but this time he has insisted that Ed (like everyone else in the Lounge) abide by his rules. Previously, Ed has refused, choosing instead to languish in his sodden, stained green suit rather than acquiesce to any of Oswald’s demands.  
It seems his desire for warmth has finally won out.  
Oswald is glad.  
Ed cuts a rather fine figure in his chosen colours.

Oswald sees Ed notice a replica of the Venus de Milo in the corner. Oswald has started setting up new acquisitions where Ed can see them as a sort of treat. He knows he appreciates art. In the centre of the wall is the painting of the two of them with the question mark defacing it. Oswald has put it there deliberately: to make sure Ed sees it each and every time he enters the room. A reminder of what they once had. What they could have again.

‘Fascinating isn't it?’ Oswald comments, ‘How works of art sometimes become more beautiful when you snap a few pieces off?’

If Ed hears the veiled threat in Oswald's words, he gives no sign. He comes into the room proper and waits expectantly, stone faced, for whatever Oswald has planned. 

When Oswald had first defrosted him (having had a little too much to drink and feeling rather low and lonely), Ed had ranted and raved at him, swearing revenge. 

The second time he was more subdued, no doubt realising Oswald would not hesitate to freeze him again should he step out of line. Oswald had taken the opportunity to show Ed his new surroundings. He had boasted about how The Iceberg Lounge was now _the_ place to be in Gotham. Ed had pretended not to be impressed. When Oswald had finished the tour and asked Ed (half in jest) if he had missed him, Ed had proceeded to launch into another rant and tried to strangle Oswald with his bare hands. He had failed. 

The most recent time, Oswald had invited Ed to a candlelit dinner. Ed hadn't eaten any of it and had questioned what the point was. Oswald was just going to freeze him again anyway. Oswald had asked Ed again: had he missed him? If Ed answered ‘yes’ then Oswald would let him go. Ed, recognising that answering the question would be an admission of defeat, had spitefully thrown the meal onto the floor to show what he thought of Oswald's generosity, broken the champagne bottle and tried to stab it through Oswald's eye.  
That had been a close call.

Oswald had prepared in advance for such an eventuality given Ed’s previous behaviour. It was a little invention of Fries' that was fastened around Ed’s neck. Oswald had placed it on him after the second defrosting as a safeguard while he was on ice. At the press of a button on a remote that Oswald kept close to hand, the vial attached to the collar would break with a miniscule explosive charge and the chemical would be released, coating Ed once more in ice.

However, Oswald had not needed to use it.  
The thawing process always left Ed weak and shivery so it had been no struggle for Oswald to wrench the broken bottle out of Ed's hands and slam him against the wall.  
As they had stood there, both breathing harshly, somehow, impossibly, Ed had kissed Oswald.  
Then immediately reached up, broken the vial on his collar and frozen himself.  
The smug smile on Ed’s face at having wrested control from Oswald’s grasp had infuriated Oswald.  
Or so he told himself.

Oswald has been thinking about that kiss ever since and thanks to the new collar around Ed’s neck (now newly reinforced to prevent easy breakage), feels comfortable. Ed seems to have finally realised that pleasing Oswald is his only chance to escape his icy prison for good. Oswald feels almost disappointed: Ed's acceptance of his fate will make for a duller evening.

'Well if you're not in the mood for conversation, you can sing instead’, Oswald invites, extending his arm towards the karaoke machine set up on stage, ‘I'll even let you choose the song'.

Ed walks to the karaoke machine and begins to obediently scroll through the songs. There’s no point resisting. Not when Oswald's request can so easily be changed into an order.

‘We used to enjoy music together', Oswald recalls, as he sits at a table at the very front of the stage.

He sips some champagne as he watches Ed pick up the microphone and he hears the music begin. He always has some champagne when he wakes Ed up. It makes the monthly appointment an occasion. It makes it special.  
He settles into a front row seat as he hears the music begin and sees Ed mentally count down before he begins to sing.

 _'You don't own me'._

Oswald knows better than to let his guard down despite Ed's surprisingly seductive demeanour and gives a low laugh at Ed's chosen song. Maybe the ice hasn't snuffed out all of Ed's fire yet.

 _'Oh, but I do'_ , he thinks, _'I made you, I own you and I am never letting you go. And you know that'._

_'Don't try to change me in any way'_ , Ed sings, reaching up to his tuxedo bowtie. 

With one concentrated tug, he discards it to the floor and steps on it as he begins to descend the stairs towards Oswald.  
He keeps his hooded eyes on Oswald as he approaches, wrapping the mic cord around one long fingertip.

 _'Don't say you love me ‘cause I’ll never stay'._

Ed sidles around the table, running his fingers along the linen tablecloth as the music builds.

 _'So don't tell me what to do'._

Ed leans over Oswald, one hand gripping an arm of his chair, the other laid flat on the top of the table.

 _'Don't tell me what to say and now I'm thawed out with you-'_

Oswald does not lean back.  
He lets Ed invade his personal space, amused at the rebellious, altered lyrics of Ed's song choice.  
He is also amused because he now has Ed right where he wants him.  
The closer Ed gets, the more he will smell the special cologne Ivy developed for Oswald. It’s not quite as invasive as her ‘mind control’ perfume but it can make those who smell it more open to suggestion. Provided of course, they have the right stimulus… 

Oswald provides it by reaching forward and stroking the inside of Ed's thigh. He runs one long finger up it and thrills at the hard bulge he feels in Ed's trousers as he reaches his crotch.  
Ed's enjoying this.  
Ed hisses and Oswald feels his hips roll forward at his touch.  
Perhaps Ed kissing him last time wasn't the spiteful power play Oswald had assumed it had been?  
Ivy’s concoctions only ever reveal a subject’s true feelings: they cannot force someone to do something they would ever do.  
He is fairly certain Ed regrets the coquettish demeanour he has chosen to employ.

‘Such a masochist Ed’, Oswald whispers with relish, ‘You're your own worst enemy’.

 _'-you won't put me back on display'_ , Ed growls through clenched teeth, abandoning the languid facade.

Oswald sees the glint of the knife and grabs Ed’s wrist as it stabs downward.  
The blade (purloined from the silverware set out meticulously on the table) doesn’t even get close. Oswald twists Ed’s wrist and his fingers spasm as he drops the knife.  
He can feel Ed shaking from both the debilitating after effects of being frozen and from the point of the umbrella Oswald has jabbed into his side. He has kept it hidden under the table in case of insurrection from Ed and pricks him with the pointed, metal tip. Not enough to break the skin but enough to hurt.  
A warning.

Oswald rolls his eyes fondly as he lets go of Ed’s wrist and throws the knife out of reach. So predictable.

'There you are', Oswald smiles, hooking a finger under the collar and drawing him close, 'I missed you'.

'It's only a matter of time Penguin', Ed replies in a low voice, careful not to move a muscle, 'You're going to regret not killing me'.

Oswald raises an eyebrow. So it's 'Penguin' now is it?

'The offer's still the same Ed’, Oswald says, ignoring Ed's posturing, 'Just say you missed me. Three little words and you're free'.

'I don't understand’, Ed says, eyes narrowing, ‘You can make me do anything you want. Why even ask me?'

'Because it's not about what _I_ want. It's about admitting what _you_ want'.

Oswald notices Ed’s eyes dart away for the briefest of moments.

'That you like being mine and just don't want to admit it', Oswald finishes teasingly.

He casts the umbrella away and standing, grabs the back of Ed’s head and pulls him into a passionate kiss. It’s a bold move and Oswald knows it: perhaps the aggression of the move will repel Ed despite Ivy’s cologne. Oswald expects to be shoved away but the push never comes.  
After a few moments, miraculously, Ed gives in and returns the kiss.  
Oswald slips a leg between Ed’s and feels a rush of arousal as Ed reflexively parts his legs at the gentle pressure. He moans as he feels both of Ed’s hands grip his throat but readies the remote in his pocket. But Ed’s fingers don’t squeeze, they just hold Oswald in place as their hot tongues entwine. He feel’s Ed’s fingertips massage his flesh and is surprised as he feels Ed’s hands drift first to his shoulders then slip around the back of his neck, drawing Oswald even closer.

Oswald sadistically grinds his erection against Ed’s and feels him utter a beautiful, desirous moan as he returns the favour. Oswald feels it reverberate down his own throat as they continue their kiss: he feels like he’s absorbing it.  
Ed truly has a beautiful voice.

Finally, Oswald breaks away and strokes Ed face fondly and patronisingly. Ed’s cheeks are flushed, his hair is damp as it clings to his sweaty forehead and his pupils are blown wide.  
Oswald uses a finger to trace over Ed’s pink lips set in a thin, tight line and can’t help but smirk knowingly.  
Ed _hates_ that he’s enjoying this.

'Nice and warm', Oswald croons, 'You remember being warm?'

He slowly began to kiss Ed's neck and feels Ed's Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard beneath his lips. Oswald licks at a vein on Ed’s neck, savouring the pulse racing beneath the flesh. He hears Ed give a breathy sigh and subtly tilt his head to give Oswald better access. Oswald playfully bites on the leather of Ed's collar and the movement of his teeth causes the vial of chemical to jingle slightly.  
This breaks the spell.  
Ed stiffens at the sound and his fingers ball into fists as he pointedly steps back.

'Well?' Oswald asks, drawing back, 'What do you say?'

He sits back down in the chair and steeples his fingers, magnanimously awaiting a reply.

Ed says nothing.  
He just stares at Oswald defiantly despite his reddened cheeks and heavy breathing. After a few moments, he averts his eyes. Oswald can see it: Ed's unwillingness to surrender battling the shame at feeling such desire for the man who defeated him.  
Who owns him.

Oswald feels the usual ache in his chest at the rejection but doesn't let it show.  
Not tonight then. That's fine. He's patient.

‘Why don’t you sleep on it?’ Oswald smirks and presses the button on the remote.

Ed doesn't even flinch as the vial on the collar breaks. Even as Oswald sees his teeth start to visibly chatter. Oswald supposes he should feel disappointed at the lack of emotional outburst from Ed but the way his eyes are shining as he glares at him is too beautiful. Oswald watches the light in them fade as they transform from a dark brown into almost black as Fries' formula freezes Ed in place once more. Ed's eyes are watering as he struggles to blink and Oswald watches the emerging tears dissolve into ice crystals as the process completes itself.

He likes seeing Ed in the tuxedo.  
During their make out session, the top button has come undone and his jacket is dishevelled, hanging off one shoulder. He wants Ed to remember how he felt when he is capable of feeling again. Hopefully he will want to recapture the sensation. The image will also help Oswald remember their encounter later that night when he's alone in bed.  
Oswald wipes condensation from Ed's glasses and looks into his misty eyes as he strokes the tear lines on his face, feeling the rough ice rub against his bare hand. So unlike Ed's smooth, warm skin.

'We have all the time in the world', Oswald says and kisses Ed on the frozen lips, sealing them with warmth for one, fleeting moment.


	2. The Deepest Circle of His Mind

Kristen was choking and even though he knew she wasn’t real, Ed tried to save her anyway.

He took a firm grip around her midriff and began to perform a Heimlich manoeuvre.  
They had been having dinner together but as Ed looked around, he realised the table with delicious food he had prepared and the chairs he and Kristen had been using were the only pieces of furniture in the featureless landscape they were standing in.   
It was misty and ice cold: a void Ed’s mind had conjured while he dreamt in his icy prison.  
But this dream was swiftly becoming a nightmare.

As if pulled by an invisible force, Ed’s hands were yanked upwards until they fastened around Kristen’s neck.   
Ed screamed incoherently as he tried to pry his fingers apart, watching helplessly as Kristen’s face reddened. Her veins bulged as she gagged and choked.  
Realising his attempts to prevent history repeating itself were futile, Ed squeezed his eyes shut and wept as he felt Kristen’s struggling gradually slow before it finally stopped with one last, harsh gasp of air that would never make it to her lungs.  
Ed didn’t open his eyes as he gently pulled her close, his hands now back under his own control. He embraced her, inhaling the flowery scent of her perfume as he stroked her hair.  
As he ran a hand along her face and down her swollen neck, he realised there was something protruding out of her mouth. Almost as if she had been trying to cough it up.  
Grimacing at the sight of the bloodied material sticking out past her teeth, he took hold of a corner and pulled firmly. The object came free and as Ed looked at it, his stomach churned.  
The name ‘Dougherty’ shone in the light, emblazoned on the front of the dead cop’s slick, leather badge.  
Ed’s grip tightened reflexively on the bloody badge and it crumbled like wet sand in his fingers. A cold breeze scattered the ashen fragments into nothing.  
The same thing happened to Kristen’s lifeless corpse.  
Ed tried desperately to stop it, scooping bits of her into perversely manageable piles to try and keep her body shape together.  
But it was futile.  
Her face was the last thing to crumble, her dead eyes rolling back into empty sockets as she dissolved completely.

Ed gagged at the sight of the ash like stains on his hands and the stench of decay that pervaded the frigid atmosphere. Stumbling back from the chalk outline that had somehow materialised around where Kristen had fallen, he grabbed a bottle of wine from the table and took a long swig.   
His forehead felt hot despite his breath misting as he gasped. The wine tasted sour in his dry mouth. To distract himself from the nightmarish vision he had just experienced, he examined the label on the bottle, trying to identify the vintage and region. 

‘Impossible to pick the perfect bottle isn’t it?’ a woman’s voice asked.

Ed dropped the bottle. It shattered on the ground but made no noise.  
He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and felt the newcomer turn him effortlessly to face her.  
Isabella smiled up at him, alive and well.

Ed grabbed her hand and tried to pull her with him, seeking some kind of safe refuge in the hellscape his brain had become.  
He could see a light in the distance: a bright spotlight that was coming right at them. He could feel the heat from it, hear its wheels upon the rail tracks!  
He yanked Isabella’s arm but she wouldn’t move!  
The spotlight was nearly upon them but Isabella didn’t seem to care!

‘Don’t you see Edward?!’ Isabella was yelling, smiling blithely, ‘I _can’t_ let you go because we _have_ to be together! Forever! ‘Til death do us p-‘

The spotlight blinded Ed as it swallowed her. He cried out in pain, instinctively letting go of Isabella’s hands to cover his streaming eyes.   
He fell to his knees, blinded, as the sound of a train horn, a hundred times louder than it should have been, thundered around the empty void and made his head pulse.  
He thought he heard Isabella scream, a high keening sound barely audible over the cacophony.  
A horrific sound of something large and metal, a car, breaking into a thousand pieces, glass shattering and the ominous, rhythmic sound of a train crossing signal.  
Then a silence so abrupt it made Ed’s head hurt more.  
It was not just quiet: it was an utter absence of noise akin to a vacuum. 

Ed got up slowly, vision blurred and shaking from the intense sensual assault he had just experienced.   
Isabella was gone. It was as if she had never existed.  
And once again Ed had been powerless to stop it.

He pushed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes.  
What was happening to him?!  
What were these visions?!  
Some new kind of revenge Oswald had somehow managed to inflict on him while he was unconscious? Perhaps he could be dosing him with chemicals to cause him to hallucinate these awful things, not satisfied with freezing Ed as some kind of perverse trophy?!  
Ed decided to latch onto this theory to maintain his fragile grip on sanity.  
It was too sickening to think these nightmares were entirely self-inflicted.

_‘But it’s the truth isn’t it boy?’_

Ed gave an audible gasp at the new yet familiar voice.   
A hated voice.  
He didn’t turn. He couldn’t.  
It felt like his legs had turned to stone and his stomach to a mass of wriggling eels. He started to shake, rubbing his hand together feverishly.  
Oswald wasn’t doing this. He couldn’t possibly know about-

_‘Know about what? How you used to shit yourself every time I came home?’_

Ed could smell the stink of sour, cheap beer and cigarette smoke. It surrounded him as a thick fog, rising up to encircle him.

_‘The Riddler’? Hah! What a stupid name! Think you’re something now?! Someone important?! It's pathetic!’_

Ed was suddenly thrown to the ground, cheek aching from an invisible blow.  
He tasted blood in his mouth from the impact as he landed, sprawling.  
This too was familiar.

_‘You deserved everything you got you little freak. Thought you were smarter than me didn’t you?!’_

Ed tried to answer but all that came out was a choked gasp. He felt old wounds, both physical and mental start to burn anew at the man’s savage words.

_‘If you were a real man that little faggot wouldn't've beaten you! If youda been smarter you wouldn’t be in this mess! You stupid, good for nothing freak!’_

Ed groaned as an invisible boot kicked him in the stomach as he struggled to rise. He curled in on himself as he had all those years before, trying to protect himself from the multitude of blows raining down on him.  
He couldn’t think straight! Couldn’t fight back!  
All he could do was feel the way he used to: weak, helpless and terrified.

 _‘Always said they shoulda locked you up Eddie’_ , the voice said, a tone of poisonous regret underlining the vicious anger, _'But your mother wouldn't hear it'._

Ed, realising that the blows had stopped, carefully and painfully exited his foetal position. As he sat up gingerly, he realised he was now dressed in his Arkham uniform.

 _‘Sneaking roadkill home to dissect, talkin’ back in class, cheatin’ on tests’_ , the voice continued, _‘It’s not right son. Not right at all. Tried my best to set you straight but all you do is break my heart. So I have to do this. You make me do this’._

The presence was fading away, Ed could sense it vanishing and its voice similarly echoed into nothingness as it repeated the same old lie it had ended every such session with when Ed had been growing up.

_‘I love you son’._

Ed didn’t have the strength to rise.  
He crawled forward and felt his hand rest on something solid.  
It was a shiny black and white shoe.  
Looking up he saw Oswald smiling down at him. He was wearing the tuxedo and top hat again.  
Ed felt his cheeks burn at the genuine warmth in Oswald’s gaze even as his heart hammered at the inevitable horror to come.

‘You look like you've seen a ghost’, Oswald said conversationally as he offered his hand.

Ed swallowed down the poisonous temptation to take it, rising carefully to his feet, trying to ignore the clink of the shackles fastened around his ankles.

‘Why didn’t you just kill me?’ Ed asked, hoarsely as he blinked back tears.

His breaking point was close. He could practically see it: a thin line above a vast, dark chasm.

‘The deepest circle of Hell is ice cold Edward’, Oswald said in an odd, detached voice, ‘You know you belong here. With your worst enemy: yourself’.

Ed grabbed hold of Oswald’s collar with both hands and struggled to stay upright with the additional energy this required.

‘I-I feel like I’m falling to pieces’, Ed whispered, ‘Like, like I’m _dying’._

‘I know the feeling’, Oswald said quietly and handed Ed a small, delicate object.

Ed saw it was the origami penguin he had made for Oswald all those months ago. It was frayed, water damaged and torn but intact.

Ed looked back at Oswald and saw red begin to blossom from beneath his tuxedo jacket, spreading up to stain his white shirt. Oswald’s eyes became misty and lifeless as he fell back into a wall of dark water, vanishing beneath the surface. Ed saw his fingers spasm as he reached for Ed. Ed didn’t know if he was trying to save himself or drag Ed down with him.

Out of sheer desperation to keep the only friendly (or at least passive) apparition he had encountered with him, Ed reached out for him.  
He flinched as he staved his fingers on the glass like surface of the water. It had frozen solid, separating him from Oswald. As Ed pounded on it with both hands, he felt the rough surface and realised it was ice.  
Just on the other side, he thought he could see Oswald’s outline, the limping gait distinctive besides the blurred image.  
As he stopped pounding, Ed realised he couldn’t remove his palms from the icy surface and began to feel the cold move down his fingers and up his arms.   
He screamed as he felt himself being frozen in place again and the blood vessels burst in his cheeks and eyes. He felt momentary warmth from the blood gushing down his face before it too was frozen solid.

 

‘He looks sad’, Ivy observed, ‘Like that butterfly Victor froze in his workshop’.

Oswald smirked as he watched Ivy draw a smiley face on the surface of Ed’s frozen prison. It did little to improve Ed’s tense yet resigned facial expression beneath the ice.

‘Where do you think I got the idea?’

‘Victor said if you keep freezing and unfreezing him he could die’.

Oswald shrugged and popped open his usual champagne. It had been a full month since he had last thawed Ed out for a chat and he was looking forward to their usual encounter.

‘How much longer are you gonna keep him like this?’ Ivy continued.

‘As long as it takes’.

‘For what? You already won right? It's just, it's weird you haven't killed him yet’.

‘I decide when that happens. Nobody else’.

He took a sip of champagne. Perfect as usual. As he lowered the glass, he saw Ivy chewing on her lip thoughtfully.

‘What’s that look for?’ he asked.

‘Well this setup is less 'I wanna kill you' and more 'if I can't have you nobody can': you know? I mean if you were just gonna freeze him from the start why call me and get me to come to the docks with my perfume?’

‘What's wrong with wanting a little company?’ Oswald said tersely, ‘Or an audience?’

Ivy didn’t need to know that Oswald had requested her presence deliberately that day on the docks. If Ed had not pulled the trigger of the empty gun Oswald had provided him with, Oswald had been willing to show mercy. For old time’s sake. He had needed Ivy to come with her perfume to check Ed’s loyalty if he had backed down. Since he hadn’t her presence had not been required. But that had not meant Oswald had not appreciated it and her continued support.  
On the other hand, he could do with less of her concern about his chosen method of revenge. He had earned this victory damnit! He would enjoy it however he pleased!

‘I guess. Just as long as this guy’s not your only company’, Ivy conceded.

She gave him the usual parting hug. Oswald returned it to show he wasn’t angry with her.

‘See you back home Pengy’, Ivy said, ‘Don't break him’.

‘Good night Ivy’.

Oswald sighed as he heard the door close behind her as she left. It was just he and Ed now, alone as usual in the Lounge.

‘She doesn't understand’, Oswald mused, half to himself, half to his immobile ‘guest’.

‘Or maybe she understands all too well’, his brain added seditiously, in Ed’s voice.

Oswald downed the glass of champagne in a series of swift swallows to drown out this little voice then flicked the temperature control switch that kept Ed encased in the block of ice.  
As the heat lamps surrounding the block began the defrosting process, Oswald poured another glass of champagne.  
He didn’t bother to watch the process anymore. The novelty had long worn off and Oswald was just keen to get started with the evening’s real entertainment.   
He wanted Ed to sing for him again.

He heard the telltale moan as Ed’s vocal chords and throat muscles began to defrost. The ice block began to creak and he saw Ed’s fingers twitch. After a few more seconds, the ice block cracked and came apart with a crunch.  
Oswald smirked as he saw Ed fall to his knees. The ice fragments cracked beneath his shoes as he walked towards his captive.

Suddenly, Ed lunged for him but instead of trying to attack him, Oswald swiftly realised Ed was grabbing at him desperately, clinging tightly. The look of desperate fear on his face alarmed Oswald as did the strength of his grip.   
He saw Ed was sweating and his cheeks were red as he trembled, wild eyed and breathing hoarsely.

‘Stop it! Let go of me!’ Oswald flailed.

The effect of the words was electric.  
Ed let go immediately and crumpled in on himself, holding up shaking hands as he drew his knees up, eyes blank and staring as tears ran down his cheeks. He babbled deliriously at Oswald who just gaped at him, horrified to see such a logical person as Ed in such little control of his faculties.

‘I’m sorry! Please-please just don’t- _don’t hu-hurt me!_ I’ll be good daddy! _I’ll be good!_ I’ll-I’ll b-be…’

Ed’s eyes rolled back into his head and froth bubbled at his chapped lips as he fell.  
Without thinking, Oswald leapt forward, cursing as he jarred his knee in the process and caught Ed before he hit the floor. He gasped as he felt the heat from Ed’s sweat slicked skin and the erratic beating of his heart.  
This wasn’t how it was meant to go! Had something gone wrong with the process?!  
Ed wasn’t supposed to be dying!

Ed felt himself slipping into unconsciousness, the blackness rushing up to greet him bringing sudden clarity back to his world.  
He was with Oswald.  
And Oswald looked _worried_ about him. He gave a delirious laugh.  
As his eyes closed and darkness swallowed reality, Ed couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so happy.


	3. Scars

‘What caused it?!’ Oswald demanded.

Fries carefully slotted the vial of Ed’s blood he had drawn for analysis into one of the pockets of his suit. Oswald fidgeted at Fries’ slow, conscientious movement, impatient for an answer.  
He could hear the beeping of the heart monitor through the office door, where Victor had just come from. Thankfully Fries had moved much faster when Oswald had called him to help him with Ed. Then again, Fries only seemed truly animated, truly ‘alive’, when it came to furthering his research.

‘I warned you not to tamper with any aspect of the process’, Fries said, a touch of irritation beneath his usual icy veneer.

Oswald tried to bear in mind that Fries had just helped save Ed’s life even as he felt anger at Fries lack of concern start to bubble up from somewhere dark inside him. He wasn’t a child for Pete’s sake!

‘But I didn’t! The temperature was exact! I waited a suitable period of time between thawing! I-‘

‘And you didn’t introduce _any_ additional chemicals?’ Fries interrupted calmly, looking pointedly at Ivy.

Ivy suddenly became very interested in the carpet while Oswald’s stomach dropped through it at Victor’s words.

‘Wh-what d-difference would it make?’

‘It would depend on the chemical’, Fries replied before wryly raising an eyebrow, ‘And the reaction it was designed to cause’. 

 

‘Kinda creepy to stare at him like that isn’t it?’

Oswald jumped slightly. He hadn’t heard Ivy come into the office.

Ed lay in a bed against the wall, hooked up to a heart monitor which was beeping steadily. Fries had changed Ed’s clothes at some point during the examination: the ruined tuxedo had been cast unceremoniously into a corner and Ed dressed in a clean chef’s outfit from the Lounge’s kitchen. The soft white fabric served as a suitable substitute for pyjamas.  
Oswald was glad he had gone ahead with his plan to have the folding bed installed in the office. He often stayed late to go over the Lounge’s accounts and had wanted a suitable place to sleep just in case. The folding bed appeared to be a regular sofa until pulled out. Oswald had been staying at the Lounge later and later, focused on making it the best it could be.  
After all, it wasn’t as if he had anything else to worry about or occupy his time.

‘I’m not staring’, Oswald said.

‘Uh-huh?’

Ivy walked past him and placed the tray she had brought in on the table. She picked up a syringe and drew a pale green liquid from a bottle on the tray. Fries and Ivy had shared a long discussion filled with chemical terms that meant nothing to Oswald but the end result had been an approved selection of Ivy’s concoctions to help Ed recover from his ‘allergic reaction’ to the potent combination of Ivy and Fries’ genius.

Oswald could smell the medicinal scent of one of Ivy’s holistic remedies from it even from a distance. She filled two separate syringes and tapped them both, checking there was no air in it then turned her attention to Oswald.

‘You wanna do it?’ she asked gently, offering the first syringe to Oswald.

‘N-no. You do it’.

‘Okay. Help me out will ya?’ Ivy asked, walking to the bed.

She slowly pulled back the covers so as not to disturb Ed and Oswald came over to join her.

‘I need to get at his neck’, Ivy whispered, pointing to Ed’s shirt, ‘And I need to rub some salve on his chest’.

Oswald’s fingers shook as he began unbuttoning Ed’s shirt. How often had he fantasized about this exact motion? He tried to ignore the way his heart was fluttering as he focused on his task and reminded himself it was wrong to think about such things when Ed was lying unconscious.  
As he peeled open Ed’s shirt, he didn’t have to try and distract himself anymore: the sight of Ed’s chest made his blood run cold.

‘Woah’, Ivy breathed, ‘What-what are th-‘

‘Cigarette burns’, Oswald said quietly, ‘Old ones’.

He had recognised the multitude of circular scars marring Ed’s chest immediately. Fish’s henchmen had often burnt cigarettes on themselves and each other as a test of ‘strength’ or as an exercise in casual cruelty. Thankfully they had always considered Oswald beneath notice.  
There were other scars too: pale pink burn marks and purplish shades of old cuts several layers of skin deep. Ed’s pallid body was a patchwork quilt of scars.

‘There’s a lot of ‘em’.

Oswald did not reply. Ivy was right.

Ivy, like Oswald had a few minutes ago, decided to focus on the task at hand and injected Ed with the first of the syringes.  
Ed stirred slightly as Ivy withdrew the syringe from his neck but then began to moan and spasm violently.

‘What’s wrong with him?’ Oswald asked worriedly but Ivy nodded, seemingly having expected the reaction.

‘It’s okay. Just a tremor. Hold him still okay? I’ll get the next one’.

Oswald took hold of Ed’s shoulders as Ivy went back to the tray. Unsure of what else to do and partly to soothe his own jangled nerves, Oswald made a series of shushing noises.  
He glanced over his shoulder as Ivy rejoined him.

‘Hi there sleepyhead!’ Ivy said brightly.

Oswald turned back to look, hardly daring to hope Ed had woken up. 

Ed was looking up at him but Oswald’s instinctive smile faded as he realised Ed wasn’t seeing him.  
Ed lashed out, eyes wild and unfocused, babbling incoherently.

‘Hold him down!’ Ivy cried, trying to find an opening in Ed’s wild movements to use the syringe, ‘I need to give him the second shot!’

Oswald grabbed hold of Ed’s wrists and forced them down, avoiding Ed’s kicking legs as he writhed beneath the blanket.

‘Stop it!’ Oswald shouted, ‘Ed stop it! You need this! It’s for your own good!’

Ed’s eyes suddenly blazed and he gave a wordless shout of utter rage. Oswald and Ivy both flinched at the sound. This momentary lapse of concentration was all it took for Ed to break free of Oswald’s grip and lunge forward. He fastened both hands tight around Oswald’s neck and began to throttle him.

‘Liar!’ Ed shouted, spittle flying from between his clenched teeth, ‘You-you always, _always_ hurt me! You liar! You _liar!’_

‘Ivy! Ivy! He-help…m-me!’ Oswald choked out as Ed’s grip tightened.

Ed suddenly gave a cry of pain and Oswald, eyes streaming saw that Ivy had managed to stick the needle into Ed’s neck. Ed went limp, eyes rolling back as Ivy’s chemical took hold.

‘Da-d', Ed moaned dully, mouth going slack as he began to lose consciousness, ‘Wh-why you always…. hurt….me? I’m…good…’

Oswald extricated Ed’s fingers from around his neck as Ivy lowered Ed back down.  
He inhaled and coughed at the welcome sensation of air rushing down his throat and into his lungs. Even through the hoarse pain in his throat, Ed’s words set his mind whirling.  
Had Ed been abused as a child? Oswald had never asked about his past. Perhaps he should have. Ed had never even hinted to Oswald that his childhood had been anything but normal but Ed's reactions now cast certain aspects of his personality into sharp relief.  
The desperate longing for attention, the obsessive overachieving, the need for validation, acceptance, love...

Oswald grimaced as he straightened. Ed should've taken his own advice and avoided that last one. After all there wasn't a day that went by that Oswald did not wish he had listened to Ed's theory of love as a weakness.

 _'But then why are you still helping me?'_ a little internal voice that sounded a lot like Ed asked, _‘Why not just let me die? Be free of that weakness completely?'_

Ivy spoke before Oswald could formulate an answer. He saw she had already rebuttoned Ed's shirt and he could smell the menthol like scent of the salve she had placed on Ed's chest.

‘One of us should stay up here’, she said, gathering her tray, ‘But I need to deal with those plants downstairs. You okay to stay with him?’

Oswald settled down into his leather chair behind his desk, pulling out a folder as an answer. Ivy, unseen by Oswald, smiled to herself as she saw his eyes dart to Ed sleeping in the bed before she closed the door.

 

It was an hour before Ed came to properly and Oswald was on his feet as soon as he saw one of his eyes crack open.  
He hastened to his drinks cabinet and pulled out a pitcher of ice water. He poured a glass as he heard Ed slowly shift and sit up. He stuck a straw into the glass as he walked to the bed, keeping his movements slow so as not to alarm Ed.  
He saw Ed was watching him with reddened, wary eyes, like a trapped predator in the zoo.  
Oswald gradually lowered himself onto the bed, keeping a respectful distance as he offered the glass of water to Ed.

‘Victor said you’re probably dehydrated’, he said neutrally, feeling his cheeks colour at Ed’s icy stare.

Ed used a sole fingertip to dismissively rotate the mouth of the straw away from him. He was unimpressed with Oswald's change in strategy. How unimaginative was he to resort to the 'Good Samaritan' strategy? Ed ached all over and knew he had suffered an overdose of some kind (having self diagnosed while he was lying in bed) but Oswald was an idiot if he thought Ed would fall for such a feeble ploy even in a weakened state.

‘Why am I here?’ he croaked.

‘You took a bad reaction to the unfreezing process’.

‘No’, Ed growled, ‘I mean why am I ‘here’ instead of a shallow grave?’

‘When you, I mean, I woke you up, you…You needed medical attention’.

‘What did I say?’ Ed asked. 

‘Nothing’.

Ed smacked the glass out of Oswald’s hands but gasped at the effort. Oswald made to move forward but Ed’s glare halted him mid movement. He knew Oswald was not telling the truth. 

‘What. Did. _I. Say?’_

‘You were…upset. You mentioned your father and-’

‘I was delirious’, Ed said robotically, eyes taking on a strange dead quality as he spoke, ‘Whatever you heard was entirely unimportant and simply the product of an overheating brain’.

Ed winced as he began to rotate his lower body towards the end of the bed.  
Realising Ed was trying to get up, Oswald placed an arresting hand on Ed’s leg but then hastily removed it. It had the desired effect however.  
Ed stopped.

‘Don’t get up!’ Oswald protested, ‘You’re too weak to go anywhere’.

‘You can’t stop me’.

‘We both know that’s not true’, Oswald said quietly, this time meeting Ed’s eyes in challenge.

Ed glared at him but after a few seconds, he dropped his gaze and settled back into bed.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Oswald cast about for something to say as Ed pretended to examine the spilt water on the floor from the fallen glass. All of the spiteful feelings Oswald had felt towards Ed were gone: they had melted away as he had watched him sleep, carefully monitoring the rise and fall of his chest. Despite all they had been through (and done to each other), Oswald now wanted nothing more than for Ed to be alright.

‘Is there-what I mean is…can I, is there anything-‘

‘Stop wasting your breath pretending you give a damn about me’, Ed said softly, ‘You just want to glue your trophy back together. Get it ready to go back in its case’.

‘Ed I-‘

Ed waved a hand dismissively at the use of his name and gave a bitter smile.

‘If you’re not going to put me out of misery then leave me alone. I’m…very tired’.

Ed lay down, pulling the blanket over his head, using the blanket as a makeshift barrier between them.

Oswald sat for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He had been prepared for the anger and for Ed to lash out at him like he had. He had even anticipated Ed trying to escape or to kill him again.  
He had not been ready for this sad, resigned, indifference.

Or to feel so hurt that Ed did not believe his concern for him was genuine.

When no suitable reply presented itself, Oswald meekly did as Ed asked and left without a word.

Ed, safely concealed beneath his blanket, inhaled deeply to calm his racing heart as he felt tears gathering behind his closed eyelids. He only let them fall when he heard the click of Oswald locking the door behind him and he knew he was alone.  
The last time he had hidden beneath a blanket like this had been long ago and far away. He hoped it would offer better protection than it had back then.  
He didn't know if he felt better or worse that Oswald had left the room without objection.  
What did Oswald want from him?! And why had Ed felt so happy to see him before he had passed out?!  
He hated him!  
Didn't he?

 

'How’s the patient?' Ivy asked as she spritzed her plants.

She had set them up around the Lounge, with particularly large ones in ornamental pots at the entrance and exits. Far more than mere decoration, they emitted hypnotic scents that would render anybody who passed through the doors more vulnerable to suggestion and therefore less likely to object to overpriced cocktails or over enthusiastic bouncers.

Oswald didn't reply. He went to the bar and popped open a bottle of scotch. He took a gulp straight from the bottle before taking out a tumbler and filling it.

‘You alright?’ Ivy asked, leaning on the bar.

‘I’m used to him being angry with me’, Oswald admitted, ‘But now he’s…’

He trailed off, feeling hollow and sad.

'Hey, are you okay?' Ivy asked, placing a hand on Oswald’s shoulder.

Oswald gave a non-committal shrug even as he touched Ivy’s hand gratefully. 

'Why do you keep asking me that?' he asked wearily.

He gulped his drink, hoping it would drown the hot prickly feeling of shame in his stomach.

It was his fault Ed had nearly died. And for what? So Oswald could use Ivy's perfume to mess with him and get a cheap thrill?  
Seeing Ed brought so low, someone who Oswald had admired for their energy and determination, was disquieting.

'Sooo, what do we do with Eddie?' Ivy asked, changing the subject ‘You heard Victor. You can’t re-freeze him again without killing him’.

'He stays here for now. He's too weak to be moved anyway'.

'He's gonna be okay Pengy'.

'I know! I mean, of _course_ he's going to be alright! Why-why wouldn’t he be? Anyway, why should I care?!'

Ivy just nodded at Oswald’s contrary outburst, well used to him using anger to obscure gaps in logic or as a defense mechanism.

'And what happens when he’s better?’ she pressed lightly, ‘You gonna keep him like a pet or something?'

Oswald swirled the tumbler thoughtfully as he considered the intriguing plan forming in his head.

'Not exactly’, he said and downed the tumbler in one, satisfied swig.


	4. Bitter Memories

They had been learning about Ancient Egypt in school when Sally’s cat, Buttons, had died.  
Ed remembered her crying in class, hiding behind her large textbook so nobody would see. Her parents thought it was silly for a farm girl like her to be so upset about a cat. Sally had always been nice to Ed. He wanted to do something nice for her. She was a pretty girl with short black hair and green eyes. Ed hated seeing her eyes sad.  
But what he had chosen to do had only made her sadder and landed him a seat in the principal’s office.  
He remembered being sick on the way in, terrified that the phone would be picked up by his father when they called his house. The damning evidence of his crime sat on the desk between him and the principal like a loaded gun waiting to be fired.  
When his mother had come in instead of his father, Ed had burst into tears. His mother had tapped his shoulder once in comfort then sat down. Ed doesn’t remember much of the stern lecture his principal had delivered to his mother. Just scratchy snippets reminiscent of bad audio recording.

_‘Second incident this month…unwholesome behaviour….abnormal…no doubt he’s intelligent but it unsettles the other children…don’t have the facilities for a child like this…’_

Then after what seemed like an age, Ed’s mother reached for the bundle on the desk and unwrapped it carefully. Ed knew she recognised the towel Ed had borrowed to bring the exhumed corpse to the chemistry lab. He’d been looking for formaldehyde.  
His mother’s only reaction to the exposed partially mummified corpse of Buttons was to give a resigned, heavy sigh.  
She looked at Ed, disappointment bleeding from her face and Ed knew what was coming next. Her eyes were dead behind her glasses and she clinically adjusted her hair, getting ready for the battle to come.

‘Edward’, she had said in a voice that sounded like a funeral bell, ‘We’re going to have to tell your father’.

Ed had never noticed before how much his mother looked like Kristen Kringle.

 

A knock at the door mercifully broke Ed out of his nightmare.  
His head pulsed at the noise, his hearing enhanced by his exhaustion. He wiped his forehead and his lip wrinkled as he felt cold sweat coat his fingers.  
He heard a key click in the lock and realised his permission was not required.  
The knock had simply been an optional courtesy.  
He sat up slowly to receive his visitor and forced the memory of the nightmare down into a dark corner of his brain where it wouldn’t bother him. He had to have his wits about him for whoever was coming in.  
He was surprised to see it was the young woman he had seen with Oswald before.  
He was even more surprised to see she was smiling at him.

‘Breakfast’, she said by way of greeting, adjusting a flower sitting in a vase on the tray she was carrying.

It held a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon along with a rack of toast. 

‘I’m not hungry’, Ed said stubbornly.

There was an audible growl of protest from Ed’s stomach.

‘Uh huh, sure’, she said and came into the room without waiting for Ed’s permission.

She set the tray down on Ed’s lap.

‘I’ll bring you up some clothes in a minute’, she said, dusting off her hands.

She turned to leave but stopped when she heard Ed speak.

‘Who are you?’ Ed asked, ‘One of Oswald’s new lackeys?’

He was perplexed by the young woman. She definitely wasn’t one of Oswald’s usual muscular thugs. Perhaps she was an assistant of some kind?

‘My name’s Ivy’, Ivy sniffed, ‘And actually I’m his friend’.

Ed gave a humourless bark of laughter.

‘Don’t laugh’, Ivy chided, ‘I saved his life. Saved yours too so a ‘thank you’ would be nice’.

That stopped Ed’s laughter. 

‘Thank you but a word of advice Ivy, in my experience, people who save Penguin’s life end up worse off than when they started’.

‘Well you’re doing okay right?’

‘I feel awful’, Ed admitted.

There was no point hiding it. He was shaky and his mouth tasted of ash around his swollen tongue. He could feel a cold film of sweat on his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. Whatever Oswald had dosed him with had been powerful stuff.

‘Any nightmares?’

Ivy took Ed’s silence as an affirmative answer to her question.

‘It’s because the chemicals are still in your body’, she explained, ‘Food’ll help but it’s gonna take a while for my medicine to flush ‘em out. Hey, bright side is you’re not dead’.

‘How long is a while?’ Ed asked, poking at the food with a fork and sniffing it cautiously.

‘A few weeks’, Ivy said then sighed and rolled her eyes when she saw Ed playing with his food, ‘Seriously?’

Ivy took the fork off Ed and popped the scrambled egg into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed then held up her hands in a ‘ta-da’ gesture.

‘See? Not poisoned’, she said, offering the fork back to Ed.

‘What does Penguin want with me?’

‘Ask him. When you’re done here, he told me to tell you to meet him downstairs. There’s a shower behind that door if you want one’.

‘Well, you tell him something from me’, Ed said coldly, gripping a knife pointedly, ‘I know what he’s up to and I’m not falling for it. He should just put me back on ice because if he doesn’t, I’ll make him regret it’. 

Ivy gave a low whistle as she stood up.

‘Wow’, she commented, unimpressed, ‘He talks about how smart you are but you are _really_ dumb’.

Ed watched her go to the door, too confused by how unfazed Ivy was by the whole bizarre situation to be angry about being insulted.

‘You actually think he wants to hurt you, don’t you?’ Ivy asked as she reached the door and left without waiting for Ed’s answer.

Probably because she knew he didn’t have one.

 

‘I have a proposition for you’, Oswald said, holding the door open.

Ed entered, adjusting the collar of the tuxedo Ivy had brought him. He recognised the room. It was where Oswald had brought him to sing the last time he had unfrozen him. His memories of that night were hazy, no doubt another effect of the unfreezing process but he definitely remembered kissing Oswald. Anger coiled in his gut. Oswald had drugged him somehow: that was the only explanation. To help act out his deranged fantasy of Ed having feelings for him.  
That was the only reason Ed was still alive. Because Oswald was delusional.  
There were no real feelings involved here.

‘You are still recovering from the effects of being frozen and you need a place to hide’, Oswald said, ‘You’re still a wanted man after all. I am prepared to offer ‘The Iceberg Lounge’ as a safe haven for you while you recover’.

‘And then what? You freeze me again?’

‘I would prefer not to’, Oswald said.

Sensing Oswald was not going to elaborate any further and not wishing to give him the satisfaction of seeing him sweat about the possibility of being frozen again, Ed let the matter drop, focusing instead on the here and now. 

‘What’s the catch?’

Oswald swallowed, trying to maintain his veneer of calm. At least Ed was talking to him: that was a good sign.  
The plan seemed to be working. This way they could monitor Ed’s condition and make sure he didn’t have any further fits as well as keep his brain active and indulge his penchant for performing. And Oswald would get to hear him sing again.

‘I-I want you to be my new lounge singer’, he said, heart racing, ‘The previous fellow didn’t work out’.

‘This is petty. Even for you’.

‘It’s pragmatism. This way I get a singer for free and you get to recover in this fine establishment without languishing in some back alley quack’s surgery. Win, win or at least a very close tie wouldn’t you agree?’

‘A gilded cage is still a cage. What happened to the last singer?’

‘His ego exceeded his abilities and my patience’.

‘Your temper’s always been the only thing you love to lose’, Ed commented drily.

Despite his distaste at taking orders from Oswald, the deal was tempting. It was true he needed a place to regroup and working as a lounge singer would not be taxing on his recuperating body. There seemed to be no imminent danger from Oswald (who was obviously still smitten with him even though he wouldn’t admit it) and also the delicious idea that he was technically inside Oswald’s fortress.  
‘Keep your friends close and enemies closer’ after all.

Ed climbed the three stairs leading onto the stage and took a seat at the piano.  
He pressed a few keys, assessing whether the piano had been tuned correctly.  
Oswald followed him up and sat on the bench beside him.  
Ed noted the noticeable gap between them.

‘Who taught you how to play?’ Oswald asked, ‘I never asked’.

‘My mother’, Ed said, Oswald’s question giving the nightmare from that morning a momentary chance to resurface.

‘Mine too. You, um, don’t talk about your parents’.

‘You never asked’.

‘If I asked now would you talk about them?’

Ed pretended not to hear what sounded like genuine concern in Oswald’s voice.  
Just another ploy to expose Ed’s weaknesses. 

‘Do employers usually discuss childhood memories with employees?’

‘If they’re friends, yes’.

Ed gave a bitter laugh.

‘We had very different ideas of what our friendship _was_ but I assure you we are not friends now’, he said spitefully.

‘What do you mean ‘different ideas’?’ Oswald asked, heart sinking even as anger began to prickle along his spine.

‘Well, I thought it was important and you didn’t for starters’.

Oswald slammed a fist onto the piano keys causing the instrument to utter a discordant noise.

‘So important that you shot me in the stomach and left me for dead?!’

‘You deserved to die for what you did to Isabella!’

‘You’re still convinced that woman was the love of your life?!’ Oswald snapped, ‘Seems like you forgot about her pretty quickly when you got that shiny green suit of yours’.

‘It wasn’t just about Isabella!’ Ed shouted, ‘You lied to me! You betrayed my trust and destroyed our friendship because of petty jealousy! And you couldn’t even let me move on! You couldn’t just _stay dead_ and let me forget!’

‘Maybe you should’ve aimed for my head then!’

‘I shouldn’t expect you to understand. How could you? How could you know what it’s like to watch someone you love slip through your fingers then live without them?! To have someone you trust go behind your back and systematically destroy your happiness just to hurt you?!’

Oswald looked stricken for a split second before his widened eyes narrowed.

‘I know’, Oswald said quietly, ‘Because that’s how I felt when I was tied to that car’.

Ed, wrong footed by the comparison, had no reply. They stared at each other for a long moment, both at a loss of what to say.  
Finally Oswald spoke, disappointment in his voice.

‘You’re making a bad habit of underestimating me’.

Oswald got up from the seat and brushed down his tux.

‘I’ll leave you to practice. You start tomorrow night Mr Nashton’.

Ed gave a start at the name. Looking at Oswald and seeing his cold expression, he knew he hadn’t misheard him.

‘What did you call me?’

‘I can’t call you ‘Edward Nygma’ in case the GCPD come calling. It’s also why you can’t leave the premises. I don’t want any negative attention now business is booming’.

‘How did you-‘

‘Zsasz found your medical records for me’, Oswald interrupted, then began to descend the stairs, ‘Edward Edwin Nashton’.

He paused at the bottom, the faintest trace of satisfaction on his face.

‘That _is_ your real name isn’t it?’

‘Edward, yes’, Ed said in a disinterested tone, ‘The rest is my father’s name. Nothing to do with me’. 

‘Edward Nashton has never been to Gotham and is completely unknown to the GCPD, making him a perfect fit for my lounge singer position. Unless Edward Nygma has a problem with that?’

‘No problem at all, Mr Penguin’, Ed said politely through gritted teeth.

Ed returned his attention to the piano, refusing to watch Oswald leave.  
He fumed as he played, using the music as a way to vent his anger.  
Oswald was right, he had underestimated him but Edward was not going to make that mistake again.  
Oswald had forgotten one thing: Edward Nygma was dead. Just like Edward Nashton.  
A dead man had no opinion of anything.  
However, The Riddler, despite Oswald’s best efforts, was very much alive.  
He was ready to play whatever game Oswald was playing.  
And he was ready to win.


	5. Just Say 'Yes'

Despite himself, Ed was impressed.  
As he launched into the first song of the night, tapping one shiny black shoe in time with the music, he surveyed the room.  
He had been working at the Lounge for four nights now and every night, it was packed. Even here, separated from the main dance floor, each booth was fit to bursting with a wide variety of patrons: groups out after work, young women for ‘girls’ nights out’, married couples, nervous couples on first dates and more. The only thing they had in common was that they were all having a fantastic time.  
And not a single person in the audience had recognised Ed as 'The Riddler' who had once menaced Gotham.  
Ed felt a slight sense of professional disappointment at this. Did fame really fade so fast? He thought he had made more of an impression. 

He found his eyes drawn to Oswald, sitting as usual at the back of the room in his personal booth. Set atop a raised platform to seclude it from the others, he was speaking to several men in suits, their body language indicating their nervousness when speaking to Oswald. Ed couldn’t hear them over the music and general hubbub of people talking but he had been around enough criminals to recognise the type.  
Oswald sat like a king receiving petitioners, smiling self-assuredly at what the men were saying. Ed was surprised he wasn’t having them kiss a ring. After a few moments, they appeared to come to some arrangement and standing, they shook Oswald’s hand. Oswald’s guests filed out and Oswald watched them go with the sombre dignity of a Roman emperor.  
Ed smiled at the image.  
An emperor penguin. The only thing missing was the purple a Roman emperor wore. It seemed Oswald no longer favoured the colour, having seemingly forsaken it for a pale grey pinstripe suit.  
As Ed’s gaze travelled up Oswald’s body, he realised Oswald was staring back at him.  
Oswald raised his glass in salute, smirking.

Ed ignored Oswald and refocused on the audience, walking across the stage in time to the music.  
He would never admit it to Oswald but he was really enjoying himself.  
When he had been young, his mother had pressured him into a theatre club at his school, trying to mould him into her ideal of a ‘normal’ child. Despite himself, Ed had loved it: the costumes, the choreography, the well-oiled organic machine of backdrops and stage hands making fantasies come true. He always knew his lines and always remembered his stage craft.  
As usual, his father had disapproved, seeing it as a haven for ‘faggots’ and ‘wusses’ but had been convinced to tolerate it once he realised it meant Ed would be out of the house more often. Out of sight, out of mind and Ed was grateful to be out of his father’s way.  
That had just made Ed love it all the more.  
Theatre was an escape. You could be anyone you wanted.  
It was no different now.  
He had to put up with the character name Oswald had given him but it didn’t mean Ed couldn’t go off script.

Ed winked at a woman in the front row who blushed, her friends giggling at her bashful reaction. Ed smiled: that kind of thing always got a good reaction.

Ed looked up and caught Oswald’s eye. He was watching him perform, fingers drumming on the table. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Ed just winked at him and kept singing.

 

'Look at him’, Oswald said sourly, ‘He does that every night. Thinks he's so clever. Like I don't know what he's doing'.

'Just looks like he's enjoying himself to me', Ivy said, idly stirring her apple juice with a neon green curly straw.

The music picked up as Ed’s song began to come to a close and he sang out with gusto:

 _‘You’re as cold as ice_  
_You’re willing to sacrifice our love_  
_You never take advice and someday you’ll pay the price’_

'At my expense', Oswald sneered and knocked back his drink, ‘He chooses songs like this on purpose’.

He clicked his fingers and a waiter materialised with a new drink for him as well as one for Ivy. Oswald had deliberately selected a booth at the back for his personal use. It provided him with an excellent vantage point to survey the room. Ivy was in her usual seat beside him. She often sat with him when he was dealing with associates or doing business, her perfume ensuring Oswald always maintained the upper hand.  
Around them, the crowd clapped as Ed finished his song with a flourish. 

‘Why don't you ask him to stop?’ Ivy asked, ‘Or you pick the songs? Or maybe try _not_ coming to watch him sing every night?'

 _‘Because either option would mean giving in’_ , Ed’s voice whispered in Oswald’s head, _‘It would make it one-nil’._

‘It takes a lotta energy to be this mad at someone’, Ivy offered philosophically, ‘Takes a whole lot less to smile'.

Unfortunately, Oswald wasn't listening.

'I’m not going to ask him to stop’, he said coolly, ‘I'm going to _tell_ him'.

Ivy just sighed and sipped her drink as she watched Oswald beckon Ed over.

Ed sidled towards Oswald’s table, anticipating a dressing down but relishing how annoyed Oswald looked. 

‘Is something wrong Mr Penguin?’ he asked.

‘You know what’s wrong’, Oswald said.

‘I’m just doing what you wanted’, Ed shrugged, ‘Keeping the audience happy’.

‘You should be more concerned about keeping _me_ happy’.

‘What’s the matter? You can't be jealous over a little thing like that', Ed challenged, ‘Or...can you?'

‘Yes’, Oswald said unabashedly, 'I find it very irritating'.

Ed looked taken aback at the admission. Oswald was being much calmer than he had anticipated and he didn’t know how to respond. His carefully planned sequence of moves were useless.

‘Weren't expecting such a simple answer?’ Oswald smirked smugly, ‘So sorry to disappoint you! I know you like a challenge to keep things exciting’.

He raised a hand to dismissively flick some dust off Ed's shoulder and gasped when Ed suddenly grabbed his hand.

Ed blinked.  
He didn’t know why he had grabbed Oswald’s hand but for some reason, was finding it hard to let go. He could feel the pulse in Oswald’s wrist rising beneath his fingers and realised Oswald had not torn his hand out of his grip. Ed’s head felt warm and he felt a strange tingle along his spine. He licked his lips as he looked at Oswald. Oswald looked back at him with a strange, searching look on his face. Almost like hope.  
This strange, aroused sensation was bringing an image into Ed’s hazy mind. Oswald in a tuxedo, like Ed was wearing now, crooning as he suggestively stroked the top of a black, silk top hat. Oswald's hypnotic green eyes shining, his head titled coyly as his long fingers had drawn circles on the fabric. Despite Oswald's coquettish demeanour, Ed had picked up on the fierce challenge in his body language: he had been daring Ed to just give in. To take what he wanted. Just like now, when he had outmanoeuvred Ed's taunting.  
Unbidden, powerful emotions were rising to the surface and a longing that Ed thought he had buried long ago was resurfacing. Ed could feel the temptation to lose control swiftly gaining speed. 

Before it could overpower him completely however, a newcomer arrived, breaking the spell.

‘Um, excuse me Mr Cobblepot?’ the young man asked, ‘I have the accounts you asked for’.

Oswald shook his head as if to dispel an irksome fly and pulled his wrist away. Ed let go as if he had been burned, blinking hard to try and regain some control.  
What had that reaction been?!  
Another new kind of hallucination?  
He frowned at the newcomer, finding an outlet for his frustration and was taken aback by what he saw.  
The young man was tall and thin with dark hair and eyes, dressed impeccably as he carried an armful of folders.  
The resemblance between he and Ed was unmistakeable.  
Ed was vaguely aware of Oswald excusing himself to leave with the newcomer.  
Ed watched them go, scowling at the young man’s back and his clenched fist’s knuckles turning white as he watched Oswald pat his back. Like they were friends.

 

'Where does Penguin live now?' Ed asked, watching in disbelief as Ivy spooned even more sugar into her cereal.

The two of them had gotten into the routine of having dinner together in the Lounge’s kitchen after it had closed. Ed couldn’t take the medicine Ivy had created for him without having had something to eat and Ed was learning very quickly that Ivy loved to eat.  
If she put much more sugar in that cereal, the spoon could stand up in the milk.

Once they both finished their respective meals, Ed would return upstairs to the bedroom he had been assigned. The ten or so ‘hotel rooms’ had been installed as Oswald had an idea to experiment with the concept of expanding the Lounge into a franchise. Ed had found nothing to complain about: the rooms were richly furnished but comfortable. Ivy had her own room down the hall from Ed’s but Ed had not seen where Oswald slept. Did he really use that bed in his office?

'He sleeps here most nights’, Ivy replied, ‘That's why he got that bed and shower put in his office'.

'What happened to the mansion?' Ed asked, taking another spoonful of soup. 

His stomach was still a little out but at least he was feeling hungry again. Ivy had made him a nutritious soup made out of dandelions, nettles and other things that Ed had prevented her from listing. Despite ingredients that seemed borderline inedible, it had a nice tangy taste. Ed was on his second helping.

'Nothing’, Ivy said, ‘I think he just prefers to stay here instead of a big, creepy house. How’re you feeling?'

'A bit of dizziness'.

Ed neglected to mention the strange rush he had experienced earlier. He was probably just tired. He knew it was more than that. Knew he was fooling himself. However, as much as he liked Ivy, he was not about to start treating her as his personal psychiatrist. He hated psychiatrists.

'Nightmares?'

'Not as vivid as they were'.

'That's good'.

They sat in silence for a few moments. Ivy picked up her bowl and gulped down the remains of her cereal. She gave a satisfied sigh and licked her lips.  
Ed took advantage of the pause to ask Ivy the question that had been on his mind all night.

‘That-that man with Os-Penguin. Who is he?’

‘Cory’.

‘Okay. What is he?’

‘Penguin’s assistant. Helps him organise things’.

‘When was he hired?’

‘Two weeks ago’.

Ed felt a sudden disappointment. So, this new assistant hadn’t been hired as a ploy to make him jealous. Ed’s stomach prickled with annoyance. Oswald certainly seemed happy with his new acquisition despite his obviously lacklustre talents. It seemed Oswald would hire anyone to be his ‘chief of staff’ nowadays.

‘Why are you jealous?’ Ivy asked, ‘Thought you wanted Penguin to leave you alone’.

‘I'm not jealous!’

‘Yeah you are’, Ivy said plainly, ‘You're upset that Pengy's paying attention to someone who isn't you. Or are you upset because Cory's paying attention to _him?’_

‘Both. No! That’s not- I meant to say ‘neither!’ I just think it's a little odd that he looks just like me! Don't you?!'

‘I hadn’t noticed’, Ivy said honestly, pointing at a nearby vase, ‘I'm better with plants than people’.

‘That's another thing’, Ed said, his train of thought jumping tracks, ‘For an ice themed nightclub there are a lot of plants around’.

‘You don't like plants?’ Ivy said, the faintest trace of offence in her question.

‘These plants don’t like people’, Ed said, gesturing at the various flora set up around the lounge, ‘Most of them are poisonous when ingested. Some kind of subtle threat?’

‘No. Just trying to make the room smell nice. If people are stupid enough to lick them, hey, at least I have fresh fertiliser’.

Ed didn’t know if she was joking or not. The more time he spent with Ivy the more he realised why Penguin had befriended her. She said what she liked and was fearless of any consequence. Ed admired that.  
She was also far smarter than she let on, preferring instead to adopt an almost childlike façade so people would underestimate her.  


‘Ivy, did your plants have anything to do with that drug Penguin gave me? The one that caused this reaction?’

‘Promise you won't be mad’.

It was an order, not a plea.

‘I'm just curious’, Ed said, holding his hands up, ‘It’s very interesting chemistry. How did he get it into my system?’

‘The cologne I made for him’, Ivy said proudly.

‘Was he wearing it tonight?’

‘No. He was wearing my custom peppermint blend. Special but not like mind control-ly special’.

‘What exactly was the cologne designed to do?’ Ed asked, simultaneously intrigued and unnerved by the potential of Ivy’s concoctions, ‘Force me to love him?’

‘It's not magic’, Ivy laughed.

‘But it is an aphrodisiac’, Ed pressed, ‘Makes you feel like you're falling in love ev-even though you’re not?’

‘Sort of. The mix I gave him only works if the other person already likes the person wearing it. None of my stuff works on Pengy though’.

‘Because you need a functioning heart no doubt’.

‘It's weird’, Ivy said thoughtfully, ignoring Ed’s snide comment, ‘I thought I was the only one it didn’t affect’.

‘Wait’, Ed said, suddenly brain whirling, ‘If it doesn't affect him then why did he ki... _try_ to kiss me?’

'Because he likes you without the perfume silly’, Ivy groaned obviously, ‘Did you kiss him back?'

'No', Ed lied.

'Then what are you worried about?' Ivy asked, walking to the cupboard and began to rummage.

Ed wondered why Oswald hadn’t used the perfume again. With such a powerful weapon, he could make Ed do whatever he wanted. Maybe he was saving it as a trump card should Ed prove too disobedient? If that was the case, Ed needed to figure out a way to counter it.

'I'm not worried. Like I said, I’m just curious. Your perfume is pheromone based correct?'

'I guess so', Ivy said, settling back down at the table with a packet of chocolate raisins.

'I have a personal question for you'.

'Go ahead', Ivy said, popping a raisin into her mouth.

'Do you like boys or girls?'

'Already told you, I like plants’, Ivy chuckled but grew serious at Ed’s expression, ‘Oh! You mean _'like_ like'. Sorry’.

Ed watched Ivy consider the question, tongue sticking out from between her lips.

‘Huh. I never thought about that before’, she said finally, shrugging, ‘I guess…both are okay?’

This answer concerned Ed.  
Sexual attraction was necessary for pheromones to work and as long as Ivy’s chemical was in his bloodstream, Ed was vulnerable to them. He could relapse like earlier: Oswald hadn’t even been wearing the perfume but proximity to him had been enough to trigger a reaction.  
Those that didn’t experience sexual attraction or who had very low sex drives seemed to be immune. Plants obviously interested Ivy more than an active love life and Oswald had certainly never expressed any interest in anybody.  
But then, did that mean Oswald only felt… _that_ way about Ed?  
Despite himself, Ed felt treacherously flattered at the realization.  
Only he caused Oswald to feel sexual attraction.  
He felt his cheeks grow warm as he blushed but determinedly swallowed down the way his heart was fluttering.  
What was he thinking?!  
He didn’t want that kind of reaction!  
Then again, before Isabella, Ed had maybe once or twice thought about he and Oswald...  
He swallowed another mouthful of soup, savouring the heat as it burnt his throat and mixed with the emotions raging inside him.

'It's funny’, Ivy said with a smile, ‘I actually thought you two were together'.

'When?'

'At Penguin's party when he became mayor’.

'You were there?'

Ivy nodded.

'I saw you get in the way when Butch tried to kill Penguin’, she said, twiddling the rose pin fastened to her shirt, ‘I thought what you did for him was really sweet'.

Ed didn't reply, silently swallowing another mouthful of soup.

'He looked really scared when you were lying there'.

'Well, if I knew then what I knew now-‘ Ed said, tapping the spoon in annoyance.

'I’m not talking about at the party anymore’, Ivy corrected, ‘I'm talking about after he unfroze you and you collapsed. He screamed for help so loud I heard him from the parking lot'.

'Good’, Ed said sourly, ‘It's his fault I took this reaction in the first place'.

‘Doesn't mean he's not sorry for everything’, Ivy said, crossing her arms, ‘He'll never admit it but he even apologised to you a couple times when you were frozen. And you know what? I think deep down you're sorry too. You're both just too childish to admit it out loud’.

Ivy nodded at her own theory, swallowing another raisin.

‘You and Selina would have a lot to talk about’, she concluded, ‘You finished your soup?’

Ed nodded, laying his spoon down. Ivy had been right: her nettle soup had tasted better than he had expected. She had mixed his medicine into it after Ed had voiced disapproval at its bitter taste.

‘Good’, Ivy said, taking a jar out of her pocket, ‘Now, open your shirt. I need to put this salve on your chest. It'll help you sleep’.

‘If it’s okay with you’, Ed said, holding out his hand, ‘I'll do it myself’.

Ivy gave him the salve, placing both her hands on his. She had expected this reaction: she knew why Ed didn't want her seeing his chest.

‘You shouldn't be embarrassed’, she said quietly, ‘Scars mean you're tough. But they're not all you are’.

Ed looked at Ivy’s sympathetic face and saw sadness in her eyes. He recognised it.

‘My father’, he said as an explanation, ‘You?’

‘Same’, Ivy said, then added without emotion, ‘He’s dead now’.

‘Why are you being so kind to me?’ Ed asked as Ivy let go of his hands.

‘Why not?’ Ivy said then playfully punched him on the arm, ‘Us freaks gotta stick together'.

Ed managed to muster a smile, rubbing his arm as he left.

 

As Ed climbed the stairs, he recalled the many times he had been called a ‘freak’ in a much more pejorative fashion and wondered at how Ivy had made it sound so much of a compliment.  
He glanced down at the tub of salve.  
He was unused to kindness.  
The only other one who had ever been so kind to him had been…

‘Oswald’, he sighed ruefully.

He remembered every gift Oswald had given him. Every little trinket a beacon of light in the seemingly endless darkness of his cell in Arkham.  
Even when Ed had turned his back on him, Oswald had still considered him a friend and came to visit him every week as soon as he had learnt of Ed’s incarceration.  
Had Oswald had feelings for him even back then and Ed had simply not noticed? Would Oswald even have realised what he had been feeling?

He suddenly realised he was not heading towards his bedroom anymore.  
Ahead, he could see a light from Oswald’s ajar office door illuminating the darkened hallway. He could hear voices and quiet laughter.  
Ed felt an unbidden prickle of indignation.  
Had Oswald been talking to Cory all this time?!  
How much attention did a pile of ledgers possibly need?!  
Spurred by his curiosity, Ed stealthily approached Oswald’s office and peeked through the crack in the door.

Oswald was sitting in his chair, laughing along with Cory at a joke Ed had not heard.

‘That is a brilliant idea!’ Oswald said, clapping, ‘How did you come up with that?’

‘I had a good teacher’, Cory smiled, giving a mock bow of appreciation at Oswald’s applause. 

Owald got up and limped over to Cory, he took hold of both his arms and patted them.

‘You keep this up and you’ll be running this place one day’, Oswald said.

As Cory began to stammer out some expression of gratitude, Ed stalked away, not wishing to hear anymore. He bit his tongue as he heard Cory laugh behind him. It sounded like a mocking jeer.

Ed’s brain, indulging itself with imagining a thousand painful ways to stop that laughter for good, suddenly seized upon something Ivy had said earlier.  
She said Oswald had apologised to Ed when he had been frozen.

 

It was child’s play to pick the lock to the now unattended security office and even easier for Ed to access the CCTV system. Oswald always used his mother’s name as his password.  
Ed selected a date at random and ensured the video was time stamped after the Lounge had closed. Despite Ed’s assumptions, Oswald had not used him as a central attraction but rather as a private joke, hiding Ed’s frozen form away in a locked room where only he could appreciate him.

Ed watched Oswald enter the frame, his limp more pronounced than usual. Ed knew that meant he had been drinking. Judging from the fact his frozen doppleganger was still wearing his green suit, the video had been recorded after the third time he had been unfrozen.  
After Ed had kissed Oswald.  
Out of spite, not love.  
Judging from the way Oswald’s fist banged on the ice block, Oswald had picked up on that.

‘Why do I let you do this to me?’ Oswald slurred, a bottle clutched in his swaying hand, ‘I finally have everything I want but all I want is you’.

Ed’s breath hitched.  
The Oswald trapped in time was of course unaware of this and continued his tirade.

‘And then you kiss me! For what?! To make me look stupid?! To make me think about you every night?! Obsess over it?! Well, news flash Ed!’

Oswald looked straight at Ed, frozen in ice, palm placed upon the block. Both Eds watched Oswald’s fingers curl into claws as his hand slipped down it. Oswald hissed at the ice gathering beneath his fingernails.

‘I already do’, he said in a wavering voice, ‘I think about what we used to have and-and I…I miss it. I miss us’.

Oswald sniffed hard, shaking his head.

‘I’m going to let you out again’, he said, ‘I can’t help it. Even though I know it’ll make you hate me even more and only make things worse. Then once the torture session is over, we’ll end up back here. Both of us frozen in place. At least you don’t feel alone _every, single night’._

Oswald suddenly threw the bottle away and it smashed into fragments against the ice block.

‘But I’m not going to be alone tonight’, Oswald whispered harshly and Ed watched, hypnotised as Oswald’s hands strayed to his belt buckle.

Ed watched, rapt, as Oswald began to unashamedly pleasure himself in front of his frozen form, his cock pale in his long fingers as he swirled a thumb around its head. Oswald leant one hand against the ice, his breath misting against the frigid surface as he began to gasp with pleasure.

Ed leant back in his chair and reached for his own belt buckle, eyes fixed on Oswald. A pleasant warmth began to suffuse his body making it feel light and tingly. He knew it was Ivy’s chemical taking hold but he savagely shoved his concerns to the back of his mind, his instinct to pleasure himself drowning out his usually rational thoughts.  
The thought that Oswald could walk in at any moment just made what Ed was doing all the more exciting. What was even more arousing was that even after everything…Oswald still wanted him. _Burned_ for him.  
Ed hungrily watched Oswald’s erotic display and his brain produced other images like a kaleidoscope: the hallucinatory Oswald singing in his tuxedo, the night Oswald had embraced him tenderly in front of the fire, the moment just before the last time Ed had been frozen when Oswald had practically begged Ed to just say…

‘Yes’, Ed whispered, throwing his head back as he took hold of his own cock and began to pump in tandem with Oswald, ‘Oh _God, yes!'_


	6. What You Are In The Dark

Ed paced in the blank, dark space of his mind, his unconscious state of dreaming no impediment to his theorising. If anything it helped. He didn’t need to focus on mundane things like breathing, talking or body language. Just the memory of that explicit video file running through his head.

So, it seemed that Oswald still genuinely had feelings for him.  
Ed refused to call it ‘love’. Oswald’s desires always centred around control and his attachment to Ed seemed to be nothing more than pure, animalistic lust. Oswald loved the fact he could control someone as independent and strong willed as Ed, nothing more. Anything to inflate his ego.  
But then, did that mean Ed secretly liked to be controlled?  
He reflected on how he had unashamedly pleasured himself in front of the monitors in conjunction with the video of Oswald doing the same. They had both cum in unison, Oswald’s name on Ed’s lips as he had indulged in his fantasy to spur himself to climax. He had practically fled the security room afterwards, just about remembering to close the video file and lock the door behind him to conceal any evidence. Despite the convenient excuse that Ivy’s perfume was still in his system, Ed knew he had needed little help from it to begin his little sordid session. It had been Oswald’s words and actions that had seduced him, not any chemical agent.  
As he had cleaned himself in the sanctuary of his room, Ed couldn’t help but think about the end of the tape. This train of thought had continued even as he had settled into bed and now it seemed to be invading his dreamscape as well.  
After he had recovered from his orgasm, Oswald had tenderly kissed the ice block as if in thanks.  
Why do that if it was only about physical pleasure?  
Could it be that maybe Oswald, in his own way, really did care about Ed?  
And if that were so, just theoretically speaking, did Ed perhaps care for-

Ed coughed at the sudden invasive smell of cigarette smoke and realised, with a sinking feeling of dread that he was no longer alone. Unseen, his father’s mocking voice thundered through the emptiness of Ed’s sleeping mind.

‘So, you’re a faggot after all? Great. Listen boy, this Penguin’s crazy not stupid. You really think he'll want you after everything you did? Who would ever want a dummy like you?! Hell, your own parents never even wanted you!’

‘I am _not_ a dummy’, Ed growled and deliberately didn’t look at the new spectre manifesting a few feet away.

He knew who it was: he recognised the smell of her perfume and the wet earth sticking to her flesh.

‘But you _are_ a psychopath’, Kristen said.

Her neck cricked as she considered him coldly. Ed could see she was kneeling on a red and white blanket with a picnic in front of her. He recognised it as the repast he had ceremoniously put together for them to enjoy ‘together’ in the woods as he had buried her.

‘And a liar’, Kristen continued, opening the champagne bottle with a cacophonous pop, ‘You told me you would never hurt me. If you loved me, why did they have to scoop up what was left of me in plastic bags? And thanks to a certain gatecrasher, we never even got to have our goodbye picnic together’.

She raised her full champagne glass to Ed before daintily beginning to chew on a tuna sandwich.

‘At least you had some kind of funeral’, Isabella’s voice echoed. 

Ed saw Kristen’s image glitch like a bad computer screen and Isabella materialised like a cell separating to stand beside her. She stood, brushing her pristine outfit down. She was dressed as Kristen but as she continued to speak, her hair and clothes morphed back into her own. It was almost like reverse bleeding as her own blonde hair eclipsed the red hair dye.

‘You knew it was only a matter of time Edward’, Isabella said, ‘You knew you didn’t deserve me. The universe doesn’t just give you second chances, you have to earn them. I would’ve loved you. We could’ve been happy. But now you’ve forgotten all about me’.

‘That’s not true!’ Ed protested.

‘Then why do you whisper his name instead of mine at night?’ Isabella demanded, a hard edge creeping into her usually gentle tone, ‘It was never about me Edward. It was never about us. It was always about him. You were angry because he hurt you, not because he killed me. I may be dead but I refuse to be an excuse to help you lie to yourself’.

She and Kristen then spoke in unison, their eyes cold and voices accusing as they vanished into the darkness.

‘You and Penguin deserve each other’. 

Ed half-heartedly reached towards them but knew it was pointless. He clenched his fist and returned it to his side as his father’s spectre began to approach him.

‘You can’t help lying can ya Eddie? Just like that contest you lied about winnin’’.

He threw something at Ed’s feet. Looking down, Ed identified the object as a puzzle prism.  
It had been a contest at his school: whoever could solve it would win a prize.  
Ed had solved it on the first try.  
It had been easy: he had dozens of similar brainteasers at home collected from comic books and newspapers. The prize had been a book of riddles. The other kids had bemoaned such a ‘lame prize’ with some unkindly remarking that it would suit Ed just fine then. Ed hadn’t cared and had rushed home with it to show off to his parents, naively hoping they would be proud. His mother had given him a tentative pat on the shoulder but then his father (far from being pleased with his son’s success) had torn Ed to shreds with four simple, hurtful words: ‘You must have cheated’. 

‘I didn’t lie’, Ed whispered, his rage building inside him as he thought of that devastated little boy, clutching his prize to his chest even as his father had beaten him for something he had not done.

‘What did you say boy?’ his father demanded, impossibly looming over him.

Ed was dwarfed by the shadow his father cast as he glared up at the monolithic figure.

‘I said: I. Didn’t. Lie!’ Ed shouted defiantly, loud enough so his father would hear, ‘You wish I had cheated but I didn’t! That puzzle was child’s play but you, a fully grown man, couldn’t do it!’

The massive figure swung a boulder like fist at Ed before he could move. Ed fell hard and smacked his face off the ground. He blinked back tears of pain and tasted blood in his mouth but, despite his shaking knees, got back to his feet. He could feel his anger and resentment boiling inside him like a furnace and felt exhilarated when he saw his father’s shade noticeably shrink at his defiance.

‘You told me I cheated so many times I almost believed you’, Ed said coldly, ‘But that’s why you hurt me isn’t it? That’s why you _always_ hurt me!’

He took a step forward and thrilled when he saw his father’s shade visibly step back.

‘You did it to feel powerful and hide how pathetic you are!’ Ed continued, still advancing, ‘It infuriated you that I was smarter than you! That I was better than you! But no matter how many times you knocked me down I got up. I’m stronger than you. I always have been’.

Ed was breathing heavily, his anger expunged and saw his father’s shade was now smaller than he was.

‘What? You think you’re better than me you little punk?!’, his father raged, ‘You shoulda stayed down!’

Ed watched his father cock his fist back then swing. Ed laughed aloud. Despite the obvious force behind it, the blow was moving at a snail’s pace. It was no threat but Ed deliberately waited until the very last moment to easily dodge it.

‘And you should have stayed in that dark corner of my mind I put you in’, he retorted as his father overbalanced and fell.

As his father hit the floor, Ed realised they were now in his childhood kitchen. The letter from Gotham University accepting him was on the floor. It was lying where his father had thrown it after tearing it in half. His father lay beside it, puffing and wheezing. He had lost his balance trying to swing a punch at Ed who, for the first and only time, had stepped back to dodge the blow.  
He refused to be beaten for finally getting what he always wanted.  
A way out.  
Ed knew people expected the ‘victims’ (Ed even hated the word!) of child abuse to be sad, lonely wrecks who bemoaned the cruel hand of fate in inflicting monsters on them instead of loving caretakers.  
Ed had been like that once. Until he had really thought about it.  
None of the abuse was his fault. His father was beating him because his father was an imbecile. The world was full of imbeciles and life was, by default unfair.  
Once he realised that, Ed hadn’t cried. Ed had gotten angry.  
He was not stupid like his father said. He knew he could do nothing until he turned eighteen and he could leave home. He needed an education to stimulate his exceptional mind but once he had that and an escape route, what did he need his father for?  
He watches as his father, balding, sickly looking and stinking of alcohol struggles to regain his footing. He has suffered a heart attack a few weeks before and is still recovering. Had Ed really thought him so terrifying once? He had been a bear of a man, not a pallid, veiny shell.  
Ed remembers this day.  
This was the day he taught his father that he was not invincible.  
He can feel the knife in his hand.  
His father has been using it to cut his steak. He likes it rare and bloody. He had been eating when he had demanded to see the letter Ed had been smiling about. Ed had been so keen to read it that, foolishly, he had forgotten all about his father’s presence and opened it in front of him. Even as his father had cursed at him and railed about him ‘getting ideas above his station’ by applying for university instead of running the farm, Ed had kept laughing.  
He’s still smiling as he clutches the knife tightly, just like in the past. There is cow blood on the serrated blade already. Ed remembers thinking a bit more wouldn’t hurt. The knife was made to be used on dumb animals after all.  
His father certainly bleats like one when he sees Ed advance on him.

‘Please Son! Don’t do this! I love you! I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!’

Ed kneels down and looks into his father’s rheumy eyes, noting the yellowish tint to the veins and hating the sour smell of his sweat. He doesn’t feel angry though he supposes he should. He feels an odd sense of calm mixed with an unshakeable decisiveness. He has dreamt about this moment for years but never thought things would fall into place so easily. If anything, he has overthought things: his next move is obvious and he feels a resolute certainty that the time has come to follow through on it.  
So he does.

‘But I do’, Ed replies clinically and stabs his father in the stomach. 

He loses count after the fifth stab and focuses on turning his arm into an unrelenting piston: in, out, in, out…  
Just like he did ten years ago in this very room. 

His father doesn’t scream. He just makes odd, huffing noises like an old car engine turning over then gives one, final sputtering rattle.

When Ed’s arm gets tired, he stops automatically. Like a machine shutting down.

He picks up his acceptance letter before the spreading pool of blood can besmirch it and goes upstairs. He cleans the blood from his hands, changes his clothes then packs his bag. It doesn’t take long. He has already memorised the train times to Gotham City. He takes the knife with him.

On the way back downstairs with his duffle bag, he sees his mother standing, frozen, in the doorway. He realises he noticed her out of the corner of his eye on his way upstairs. He had stepped in the spilt milk from the bag of groceries she has dropped in shock. He briefly wonders how much of the attack she saw. He decides in the same moment he doesn’t care.  
He walks towards her and he can smell his father’s fresh blood mingling with the sweet scent of the oranges littered about the floor.  
She recoils from him as he approaches. She looks at Ed the same apprehensive way she's always looked at her husband but he fancies there is a forgiving glint in the watery eyes behind her glasses. A glimmer of conspiratorial understanding she doesn’t dare voice.  
Ed thinks to himself that what he has read is true: creators always blame their monsters. Never themselves.  
Ed’s mother gives a dry heave and runs past him. She falls to her knees beside her dead husband sobbing inconsolably. The picture of a grieving widow mourning her loving, devoted husband. It makes Ed feel sick.  
Ed walks out of the door and never looks back.  
His mother never follows him.  
It’s the kindest thing she’s ever done.

That night, Ed looks out over Gotham Bay and throws the bloody knife into the water. It’s a rebirth of sorts. He will need a name to match.  
He envisions packing the memories away in a suitcase in his brain. Good and bad they all go in: they belong to Edward Naston, not him. Whoever he is becoming. He shoves them away somewhere deep inside himself so the real world won't see the darkness behind his face. He silences the echoes of his father's voice and his own self loathing as he focuses on his new, chosen name.  
Edward Nygma is born from a baptism of blood and for the first time in his life, the world makes some kind of sense.

 

Ed smiled as he woke up, the serenity of the dream pervading his veins. He sat up and stretched luxuriously, feeling rested and strengthened.  
That had been a good dream.

As Ed headed towards the kitchen to enjoy some breakfast with Ivy, he catalogued how he was feeling. No aches, no dizziness, a restful sleep, no intermittent shivers or bad taste in his mouth. He also noted how light his limbs felt.  
He realised Ivy’s chemicals must have been totally purged from his system.  
Perhaps his subconscious had manifested his body fighting the chemicals off as nightmares? The concept while fantastical, was fascinating to consider.  
Did that mean he was now free to leave since he would no longer require medicine or monitoring? Ivy had said it would take a few weeks to recover, not a few days. Had Ed defied Ivy’s expectations or had she just been giving a generous estimate of the recovery time? Perhaps Oswald had told her to tell Ed that to keep him around? After all, now that he had recovered, there was technically nothing to stop him leaving. But, where was he supposed to go? Were any of his bolt holes still secure? Would Oswald even let him leave? The doors to the Lounge were undoubtedly locked. Perhaps he could sneak out during his set that night when they would be unsecured. That way he could leave and Oswald wouldn’t-

‘-suspect a thing’.

At first Ed had thought he had spoken aloud but realised in the same moment that the voice was coming from ahead of him.  
Ed, his keen ear for intrigue burning, followed it, identifying the voice as belonging to Cory. The conversation was coming from a small office.  
Ed rolled his eyes when he saw the door was ajar. What was the point of having what was obviously supposed to be a surreptitious conversation if the door was open?  
Unless Cory didn’t mind people overhearing?  
Judging from what Ed could hear, that was a dangerous risk to be taking.

‘He has no reason not to trust me’, Cory was saying, ‘Penguin wants me there tonight when he speaks to the remnants of the Maroni crime family. I don’t know what about. Think it’s a new business deal: a woman from Lexcorp’s been here a couple times. Penguin’s said if it works out, he wants me to help the Maronis with ‘moving the merchandise’. Wouldn’t go into detail about what it was’.

Cory stopped, obviously awaiting an answer from whoever he was speaking to. As Ed slid against the wall and halted just before the door, ears pricked, he realised from the lack of an audible response that Cory’s contact must be on the other end of a phone.  
But who was it?

‘No, no proof yet’, Cory continued, ‘We’re gonna need it before we even think about making a move Sir. People really do love this place and Penguin’s careful to the point of paranoia. He’s even convinced the new lounge singer’s making jokes behind his back! Yes. Yes, I understand. Roger that, Blueboy out’.

Ed burst into the office without knocking as soon as he heard the word ‘Blueboy’. It was the handle used when an undercover GCPD cop was reporting back to HQ.

Cory gave such a start he nearly hit the ceiling as he shoved a phone into a waiting drawer. This confirmed Ed’s suspicions.  
Cory was a GCPD mole. Just not a very good one.

Ed’s brain kicked into overdrive, the real world slowing to bullet time as he put the pieces together to formulate his next move.  
If Ed told Oswald what he had just heard, he would never believe him. Laughable as it was, Oswald would probably assume Ed was jealous of Cory’s position.  
Ed couldn’t afford for the GCPD to know he was in the Lounge or they would pack him back off to rot in Arkham. Ed had seen no evidence of any criminal activity at the Lounge save for unheard conversations Oswald had had with known criminals (there was no law against just talking) but from the sounds of this deal it was only a matter of time before the GCPD kicked down the door.  
He had an advantage in that Cory was obviously new to Gotham: he had not recognised Ed at all despite his criminal past which meant Ed’s anonymity remained secure as long as the wider GCPD didn’t get involved.  
But if Ed left Cory where he was, he could damage Oswald’s business or even Oswald himself. Ed didn’t want that. It wasn’t that he cared about Oswald. He just didn’t want to leave the Lounge owing him anything.

‘Can I help you?’ Cory asked as the laws of physics took hold again, his red cheeks the only outward sign of his surprise at having been disturbed.  
He pumped some hand sanitiser into his open palms and rubbed them together in what was supposed to be a flippant gesture.

‘Sorry, wrong room’, Ed said, easily recognising Cory’s cleaning of his hands for the subconscious, compulsive reaction it was. It was a repetitive routine designed to reassure Cory: the dispenser on his desk was half full.

‘Low level employees shouldn’t be wandering around’, Cory sniffed, wetting his fingers to turn a page in his files, ‘Mr Cobblepot has a correspondingly low tolerance for idiocy’.

 _‘Then why did he hire you?’_ Ed thought savagely but said aloud, ‘Yes sir. I’ll keep that in mind’.

As he left the office, he noted how Cory always wet his fingers with his tongue to turn pages. It was an unhygienic habit that Ed detested: he had always kept a rubber moisture tongue on his desk for that purpose. Cory didn’t even seem to realise that by doing that he was completely undoing the work of his hand sanitiser.  
Just further proof that Cory was pathetically out of his depth. It was becoming blindingly obvious that Oswald had only hired him for his looks.  
Ed’s looks.

‘The arrogant, preening, obsessive compulsive, mysophobic’, Ed grumbled but then smirked as an idea practically exploded behind his eyes.

Ed had to suppress a giggle. It was so deliciously ironic.  
How foolish Cory had been to leave such a large weak point out in the open where anyone could see. Such an innocuous object could easily be turned into a devastating weapon.  
Helping Oswald with a little pest control would be adequate to repay Oswald for enabling his recuperation. Ed didn’t want to deal with the distracting mess of his feelings for Oswald right now but he knew exactly what to do about his feelings towards Cory.  
He had to go.  
Ed would wait until Cory left his office then he would make his move. In the meantime, he had some gardening to do before he started practicing for that night’s show.

 

Ed smiled secretly to himself as he saw Oswald looking around distractedly. No doubt wondering where his new pet was. Ed continued with his piano rendition of 'Who's Sorry Now?' Just something easy to help him warm up before he started singing for the night. 

If Ed’s machinations had been successful, the answer to the particular riddle involving Cory's whereabouts was: in a coma by now.  
An idle conversation with Ivy that morning over breakfast about the more unpleasant plants she had dotted around the establishment had provided Ed with more than enough chemical knowledge to whip up a nasty little mixture derived from botanical samples he collected right there in the Lounge. Then he had simply waited until Cory had left his office for a bathroom break and introduced it into his hand sanitiser. The poison couldn’t be absorbed through the skin and it would not take effect instantaneously but that was the beauty of Ed’s plan. Every time Cory licked his fingers, he was signing his own death warrant.

Ed hid a smirk as he saw Oswald’s fingers begin to drum impatiently. He thought perhaps he should do something to keep Oswald from worrying and to give him something nice to remember him by before Ed snuck out of the Lounge later that night.  
He finished playing his song and sat at the instrument long enough to accept a smattering of applause, then got up from his seat at the piano and instead, selected a song from the karaoke machine. He took up position centre stage. All eyes in the Lounge turned to look at him expectantly. Oswald didn’t: he was busy greeting the representatives of the Maroni family who had just come in.  
Ed cleared his throat, counting down the beats before the song kicked in.  
Oswald would be paying attention to him soon enough.

_‘I need a gangster to love me better_  
_Than all the others do._  
_To always forgive me, ride or die with me,_  
_That’s just what gangsters do’_

Now Oswald was paying attention.  
Ed maintained eye contact as he descended the stage stairs onto the floor proper and didn’t go through the usual routine of flirting with random audience members. He kept his movements languid, borderline sexual, as he approached Oswald’s table. He was gratified to see Oswald’s jaw drop even as his eyes watched Ed warily.  
It was amusing to Ed to see Oswald try to figure out what he was planning when his plan had already been put into motion.  
He saw the members of the Maroni retinue also eyeing him with a degree of annoyance. Oswald seemed to have lost all interest in whatever it was that they had been proposing to him.  
Ed paused his singing for a moment to playfully blow out the candle on the table.  
Oswald blinked at the sudden movement and gave an odd, jerky gesture as if he were in two minds about whether to rise or not.  
Ed took care of his indecision by leaning across the table and placing a hand under Oswald’s chin.  
Ed lifted Oswald’s face, forcing him to gaze deep into his eyes.  
It was as if they were the only ones in the club as Ed continued to sing.

_‘My freakness is on the loose_  
_And running all over you_  
_Please, take me to places that nobody, nobody knows_  
_You got me hooked up on the feeling_  
_You got me hanging from the ceiling_  
_Got me up so high I'm barely breathing_  
_So don't let me, don't let me, don't let me, don't let me go’._

‘Ed…’ Oswald breathed, licking his lips, eyes half hooded.

Ed smiled coyly, using one finger to trace Oswald’s parted lips. He gave a laugh as he noticed the Maroni members were now exchanging confused looks.  
His sultry choice of song had done its work: Oswald was putty in his hands. Ed knew he would remember this later when Ed had fled the Lounge.  
Ed luxuriated in his position of power: only he knew what was going on.  
He was in complete control, just the way he liked it. 

‘Call me Riddler’, Ed grinned at Oswald, ‘And I’ll give you a ki-‘

Suddenly there was a calamitous crash and the front doors of the Lounge caved in. Uniformed officers of the Gotham City Police Department burst into the room, all armed and brandishing their guns.

‘GCPD! Nobody move!’ one of them ordered loudly.

There was silence in the Lounge save for a few hushed gasps and a single delayed scream.  
But not everyone was idle.  
Ed and Oswald both watched as the Maroni retinue drew their guns, spooked by the GCPD’s sudden entrance.

‘Oh crud’, Ed murmured.

The air exploded with gunfire as the gangsters began firing. The GCPD immediately returned fire.  
Ed gasped as he felt someone grab his wrist and he saw it was Oswald. Too shocked to resist, he let Oswald drag him to a panel on the back wall, through the crowd of panicked patrons fleeing for the doors.  
He and Oswald used a huge plant pot for cover as Ed watched Oswald press in an innocuous looking circular bolt on the wall. A panel opened and Oswald jabbed a thumb at it, directing Ed to get in.  
Ed, dumbfounded by the GCPD’s unexpected entrance did not hesitate. He slid inside and Oswald followed suit, slamming the panel shut behind them.

 

Both of them stood in the darkness for a moment, getting their heart rates under control. The gunfire was much quieter inside the wall and Ed realised the place they were now standing in had the benefit of incredible soundproofing. Ed blinked as Oswald flicked a switch and he saw they were standing at the top of a flight of stairs leading down into what looked like a cellar.

‘A hidden passage’, Ed observed.

‘Thought you would approve’, Oswald said, leaning against the wall.

Ed saw he was rubbing his injured knee. He realised Oswald must have jarred it when he dragged him out of harm’s way. Oswald caught him looking and stopped. He fixed his tie as he straightened and began to descend the stairs, taking hold of an iron railing set into the wall for support as he did.

‘I kept some of the building’s more colourful features from the days of prohibition’, Oswald said.

Ed followed a few steps behind, giving Oswald plenty of room to manoeuvre. Ed became conscious that the air seemed to be getting heavier and warmer.  
Soon they reached the bottom and Oswald flicked another light.  
The reason for the additional moisture in the air became clear. They had arrived in what seemed to have once been a stone cellar but Oswald had done some redecorating.  
More of Ivy’s plants were hanging from the ceiling in ornamental birdcages instead of pots and there were several Japanese style screens displaying painted images of penguins swimming and leaping out of water. A large, deep pool filled with water was set into the floor. Ed assumed it was hooked up to some kind of heating system concealed beneath the floor judging from the way the water in the pool was bubbling. The room was illuminated by glass lanterns set into nooks cut into the wall.

‘Useful in case the GCPD ever come knocking’, Ed commented awestruck at the hidden treasure Oswald was showing him.

‘Yes. Speaking of which, why the Hell did you call them?!’

Ed laughed at Oswald’s accusation but saw from his folded arms that he was serious.

‘What makes you think I called them?!’ Ed demanded angrily.

‘Who else would it be?! What were you thinking?! They could’ve found you! Is screwing me over so important to you that you would risk being sent back to Arkham?!

‘No!’ Ed protested, brain whirling, ‘No that's not…’

He trailed off. Why did Oswald seem more concerned about his welfare instead of his club? A GCPD raid could be very damaging for the Lounge’s publicity.

‘Then why did you call them?!’ Oswald demanded again, losing patience with Ed’s silence.

‘Your new assistant called them!’

‘Cory? He wouldn’t…’

This time, Oswald was the one to trail off, his expression changing from one of anger to one of horror and dismay.

‘Ed, what did you do?’ he asked quietly.

‘I did you a favour!’ Ed declared triumphantly, a bit confused at Oswald’s shell shocked demeanour but also keen to drive the point home, ‘Turns out your new friend was a GCPD mole!’

‘I know he was!’ Oswald snapped, spittle flying from his teeth, ‘Do you think I’m an imbecile?!’

There was a ringing silence.  
Ed’s shocked brain unhelpfully provided the most pedestrian, lackwitted (and only) reply it could think of.

‘You-you knew?’ Ed asked, despising how dumb he sounded. 

‘What? That he was a GCPD plant the day he walked in the door?!’ Oswald barked, ‘Yes, I knew. You know how? Ivy dosed every person I interviewed for that job with her perfume and he spilt his guts just like all the others! I hired him anyway to make sure the GCPD only ever saw the legitimate side of things in his reports to them!’

Oswald momentarily paused his tirade and Ed could see Oswald realising the ramifications of Ed’s actions. As his mental calculations concluded, Oswald scowled and resumed.

‘But now instead of a reliable double agent waiting in the wings to protect my interests and _you_ , I assume (ironically thanks to you!) I’ve got a dead rookie cop on my premises! He was totally loyal to me! Thanks to Ivy's perfume, he didn’t have a choice!’

Oswald stopped and glared at Ed accusingly. It was a wordless challenge for him to explain himself or to make some kind of conciliatory offer. When Ed could not think of an adequate reply for either, he addressed the question on his own mind.

‘But then how did the GCPD-‘

‘Cory was wearing a GCPD heartbeat monitor’, Oswald said, passing a hand over his face, ‘All the undercover guys do now. He flatlined and it called them automatically’.

Oswald sighed wearily, fury seemingly expended.

‘Was being here really so bad?’ he asked Ed.

Ed was caught off guard by how little Oswald cared about Cory being dead. It seemed they hadn’t been friends after all.

‘No! It-it’s-‘

‘Because the doors aren't locked Ed!’ Oswald snapped, anger resurfacing at Ed’s hesitant and uncertain demeanour, ‘They never have been! So why don't you just leave?’

Ed had never even checked the doors. Now that he thought about it, it seemed odd that he had just assumed they were locked. Deep down, he knew why he had never checked: he had he been looking for an excuse not to leave.

‘You know why’, Ed said defensively but Oswald wasn’t having any of it.

‘I want to hear you say it’, Oswald hissed, ‘Not hiding behind song lyrics or chemicals as an excuse!’

‘It's not enough to have me on display every night?!’

‘You and I both know you're only up there because _you_ want to be! Because you want me to see you shine! And you do Ed. You shine so bright it hurts my eyes but I can't stop looking’.

Oswald gave a sudden, bitter laugh and added, ‘Look but don’t touch: right?’

‘You don't mean that’, Ed said, crossing his arms as his eyes darted from side to side, ‘Just more empty flattery. You're-you're trying to manipulate me somehow. Or stall me so the GCPD will come down here and-‘

‘Oh my God! Why can’t you just accept it?! Do you- do you really find it so hard to believe I love you?’

Ed tried to turn away but there was nowhere to run. He gasped as Oswald grabbed his jacket and slammed him against the wall with surprising strength.

‘I could've killed you a hundred times and I haven't!’ Oswald cried, eyes shining moistly, ‘I gave you a safe place to stay! I helped you! We’re standing here right now instead of up there with the GCPD! Why would I do any of that if I didn’t love you?!’

‘It's not about you! It's about me!’ Ed shouted, shoving Oswald back, ‘I don’t deserve it!’

Oswald staggered as his knee threatened to give way beneath him. Ed leapt forward automatically and caught him. Oswald blinked up at him, Ed’s surprised face reflected in his wide, pale eyes.  
Around them, the echoes of Ed’s confession gradually died away. Both men stood frozen, fearful of potential discovery from the noise. When it became apparent they had not alerted the GCPD to their location, Ed helped Oswald stand then let go of him. He took a deep breath then continued in a lower tone.

‘I’m-I’m broken Oswald’, Ed said wretchedly, feeling mortified that he couldn’t seem to stop talking now the floodgates had been thrown open, ‘I always have been. I tried to be normal and I tried going crazy but _nothing_ works. All I ever do is screw things up. I-I just...'

Ed sighed heavily at his own rambling and sat on a wooden bench beside the pool. He wiped his forehead.

'I just can’t figure it out’, Ed said dejectedly, ‘How can you possibly love someone like me? After everything I’ve done to you? What I’m _still_ doing to you?’

Ed couldn’t bring himself to look at Oswald. He could feel his cheeks burning and he knew it was not due to the heat rising from the pool.

‘If a genius like you can't figure it out, what chance do I have?’ Oswald laughed quietly, coming up to stand beside Ed.

Ed looked up at Oswald out of the corner of his eye and saw his smile fade as he gazed into the water. Ed thought it looked as if Oswald was trying to somehow glimpse the future like a soothsayer of the ancient world.

‘All I know is I can’t help it’, Oswald finished sadly.

He knelt down and ran a finger through the water.

They both watched the ripples expand and fade into nothing, broken to pieces by the bubbles rising to the surface of the water.

‘I’m so sorry’, Ed said.

‘I know. I’m sorry too’.

Ed blinked. Was that it? Could an apology be that easy? The three words Ed had spoken did not seem like enough justification for what he had done.

‘If I’d just told you-‘ Ed started, trying to truly convey how he felt about the whole mess but Oswald held up an arresting hand.

‘Let’s not get into ‘what ifs’. I’m more concerned with the ‘what nows’. I have to ask: why did you really kill Cory?’

Ed licked his lips nervously before answering. There was no point hiding it anymore. There was no accusation or mocking in Oswald’s tone. He just wanted to know so he could plan how to fix Ed’s faux pas. 

‘Because I was jealous. I understand if that’s something you can’t forgive’.

‘It’d make me a bit of a hypocrite, wouldn’t it?’

The parallel hit Ed like a ton of bricks.  
What he had done to Cory was exactly what Oswald had done to Isabella. He had even done it for the same petty reason! He hadn’t even realised but Oswald had within seconds.  
Had Ed's true feelings been that obvious?

‘You should hate me’, Ed said wretchedly, feeling self-loathing squirm inside his guts.

‘And you should hate me’, Oswald said, sitting beside Ed, ‘But here we are’.

‘What is this place?’ Ed asked, looking around properly.

‘It was supposed to be my private sauna. Though I suppose it’s turned into more of a bath house’.

‘It’s beautiful Oswald’.

Oswald felt his heart flutter. It wasn’t about the compliment. It was because Ed had used his name. 

‘Thank you. I was going to come down here straight after the meeting to bathe my knee. But I was enjoying your song too much to continue speaking with those thugs’.

‘Do-do you want me to turn my back while you deal with your knee?’ Ed asked, swallowing hard, ‘After all, we can’t go back upstairs and-and it needs treatment. I know how much it can hurt you’.

Both men felt as if they were standing on the edge of a precipice.

Finally, Oswald spoke, his cheeks pink and eyes downcast.

‘Even if I tried to explain, I’m not sure you’d believe how or why I love you but…’

Ed inhaled sharply as Oswald laid a gentle hand on his upper leg. The feather light touch caused a very different kind of warmth to pulse between his legs.

‘If-if you let me, I can show you how much?’ Oswald concluded.

‘Actions do speak louder than words’, Ed conceded evenly.

Deciding the best way to hide his nervous anticipation was to practice what he preached, he reached up and took off the bow tie. Oswald was watching him with something akin to hunger.  
Encouraged by Oswald’s obvious desire for him, Ed undid his top button and reached for the next one, only to stop dead.  
If he kept going, Oswald would see his chest again.  
He would see the scars.  
Who could possibly find those attractive? 

Oswald placed his hands on Ed’s, silencing the indecision clouding his brain.

‘Don't be afraid Ed’, Oswald said gently, ‘Nobody needs to know. This can be our secret’.

‘A mystery’, Ed replied, fingers gliding over the back of Oswald’s hands.

He marvelled at the smoothness and warmth of Oswald’s naked skin. When had he removed his gloves?

‘An enigma’, Oswald breathed, his fingers gripping Ed’s shirt.

He was steadily drawing closer. Ed could see his own blushing expression reflected in Oswald’s sea green eyes.

‘I love a mystery’, Ed breathes, moving one hand to rest against Oswald’s flushed cheek. 

‘And I love an enigma’, Oswald agreed.

Ed smiled at the wordplay and saw Oswald’s eyes were closing. His pink lips were moist and glistening in the lantern light. Ed followed suit and taking hold of Oswald’s face in both hands, hurled them both over the precipice as their lips made contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, plenty of smut next chapter ;)  
> Ed's song is 'Gangsta' by Kehlani: because I wanted to use the song for two Batman villains I actually want to see in a relationship.


	7. Soaked in Soul, He Swims In My Eyes

As soon as his lips made contact with Ed’s, Oswald couldn’t help but give a moan.  
How often had he dreamt of this moment?  
The warmth of Ed’s kiss, the gentle pressure as Ed placed a hand on the back of his neck to draw him closer, the searching probe of his tongue as it parted Oswald’s lips…  
Oswald felt like he was dreaming and placed both hands on Ed’s cheeks to reassure himself that he was awake.

Ed felt Oswald’s hands on his cheeks and smiled.  
Oswald had no way of knowing but Ed had often fantasized about what it would be like to kiss a man long before he had ever met Oswald.  
Now, sharing this moment with Oswald and feeling Oswald draw closer to him Ed couldn’t imagine ever kissing anyone else.  
He smiled as he felt light stubble from Oswald’s top lip tickle his face and gripped Oswald’s short hair to hold him in place.  
He felt Oswald sigh at his possessive move and, opening his eyes, noted how Oswald tilted his head back, granting Ed better access.  
He also noted that Oswald was taking his jacket off. He watched hungrily as Oswald cast it away then began to unbutton his white shirt.  
Ed, recognising the game was changing, tore off his bowtie and shucked his jacket. It fell to the stone floor to lie over Oswald’s.

Oswald drew back as he finished unbuttoning his shirt, and, licking his lips, opened it, eyes locked on Ed.  
Ed was reminded of a peacock splaying its feathers and felt a rush of arousal as Oswald easily discarded the shirt, unashamed of standing before him half naked.

Oswald smirked as he saw Ed’s eyes flick to his fly and he sidled closer, leaning his head on Ed’s shoulder. He felt Ed’s heart hammering and gazed up at him, an expression of mock innocence on his pale face.  
Even as he began to undo his zipper. 

Ed watched hypnotised as Oswald pulled his trousers down and stepped out of them, black briefs now the only thing obscuring Ed’s view from Oswald’s most private parts.  
He felt Oswald take his hand and begin to lead him towards the pool.  
The way Oswald was looking at him, Ed would have followed him anywhere.

Suddenly Oswald let go of his hand and began to walk backwards. He descended the three steps leading into the pool and swam out into the centre. Ed marvelled at how deep it seemed to be: it was nearly up to Oswald’s shoulders.  
But his attention was diverted from the dark bottom of the pool by the black material Oswald was now twirling idly around his index finger. Oswald flicked his briefs dismissively from his fingers and they landed beside the pool. Ed hadn’t even noticed Oswald remove them!

Using the same index finger, Oswald beckoned to Ed, his eyes glittering invitingly.

Irrationally worried some kind of time limit would expire, Ed yanked one shiny dress shoe off and ran to the side of the pool. He eschewed the stairs, logically deciding to simply lower himself into the pool from the side to reach Oswald faster.  
He grunted as he struggled to undo the laces of the other shoe, hopping on one foot.  
Only to see Oswald’s pale hand rise out of the water and take hold of the toe of the shoe and pull down.

Ed cried out as he lost his balance and plunged forward into the water, still fully clothed.

Ed surfaced, his clothes sodden from the warm water. He inhaled deeply, running his hands through his hair to stop water running down his face and laughed as he struggled to see through the water on the surface of his glasses. Reaching down into the water he finally managed to tug off the shoe and discarded it beside the pool.  
He felt the water move beside him as he removed both socks and saw the blurred shape of Oswald rise to the surface.

‘I’m going to need a new tux’, Ed commented.

Oswald reached up and took off Ed’s glasses, placing them carefully at the edge of the pool. Oswald was so close to him, Ed could see him clearly without them.  
He liked what he saw.  
So much so that he couldn’t help but touch.

Ed placed his hands on Oswald’s naked shoulders, marvelling at how broad they were despite Oswald’s seemingly thin frame. He ran his fingers down Oswald’s arms, appreciating the lean muscle beneath his wet skin.  
Meanwhile, Oswald reached up and unbuttoned Ed’s white shirt, fingers trembling as they meticulously loosened each button.  
Ed, partly to calm his nerves and partly out of curiosity, began to examine Oswald’s upper body.

Pointedly ignoring the indentation in Oswald’s stomach (and how the bullet wound made his heart ache), he traced the multiple scars and marks set into Oswald’s flesh. They only enhanced the creamy colour of his flesh: purple and pink strokes that painted a picture of someone who was fearless. Indomitable. Breath taking.

Oswald ‘hmmed’ at the attention, moving his own hands within Ed’s now open shirt.  
Ed felt Oswald place his palm against an old burn mark and twitched before he could stop himself. Oswald stopped dead and the worried way he looked at Ed only made Ed’s feelings for him grow fonder.  
To demonstrate that he actually enjoyed Oswald’s ‘exploring’, Ed used a thumb to trace a dark purple indentation on Oswald’s shoulder.  
The gunshot wound that had first brought them together.  
Oswald laid his own hand on Ed’s and smiled at him from beneath his lashes, picking up on the meaning behind Ed’s gesture.

‘Did I ever truly thank you for saving my life?’ Oswald asked.

Ed tried to think but couldn’t. The gentle pressure of Oswald’s hand on his and his fingertips of his other hand drawing slow spirals on Ed’s chest was making it difficult to concentrate. The cool air on his exposed flesh combined with the warmth of the bath and Ed’s awareness of his own arousal were combining to create a heady scent that threatened to overpower him.

‘Let me thank you now’, Oswald purred and began to sink to his knees without waiting for Ed’s answer.

Ed gasped as he watched Oswald begin to unzip his fly. As Oswald reached inside, Ed felt his heart begin to race and his breath hitched as he felt Oswald’s fingers wrap around his cock.

‘Well, well’, Oswald crooned, grinning up at Ed, ‘No underwear’.

‘Surprise’, Ed said, returning the smile.

He inhaled sharply as Oswald yanked his trousers down with surprising strength. Ed felt them drifting around his ankles like seaweed and felt his cheeks grow hotter as he realised his cock was now fully exposed beneath the water. And still in Oswald’s hand.

Oswald began to kneel down even further and Ed suddenly realised what Oswald was going to do next.  
He exhaled shakily.  
Neither Kristen or Isabella had ever done that for him. Ed had been too much of a gentleman to ask them and too grateful for their attention to risk their potential displeasure or offence at such a request.  
Oswald, on the other hand seemed very eager.  
He dove beneath the water and within a heartbeat, Ed’s cock was engulfed in Oswald’s mouth.

Ed gave a wordless cry at how soft Oswald’s mouth was as he began to suck at his pulsing erection. The sharp edges of Oswald’s teeth as they graced smoothly over his skin caused shivers to run up his spine: the electric impulses clashing pleasurably with the heat of the water. Oswald’s tongue lathed along the underside of his cock before flicking up and over the tip and Ed’s head fell back at the intense sensation.

Oswald ran his other hand along Ed’s ass cheek and Ed actually felt him smile _around_ his cock as he felt Ed quiver.

Oswald was speeding up and Ed was trying desperately to suppress his instinctive desire to buck his hips forward. Denying the urge to chase after the sensation and marvelling at Oswald’s enthusiasm. His rushing brain was desperately calculating how deep Oswald could possibly take his length!  
How-how was Oswald even _breathing_ down there?!  
And, if-if Oswald was sucking him off, then Oswald must want him to…

‘Oh my God’, Ed whispered in delight and shock as his brain helpfully supplied a visual aid to help with his conclusion.

Oswald wanted Ed to be on top.

As if in response to Ed’s silent realization, Oswald drew back slowly and resurfaced.

Despite a sense of loss that Oswald had stopped, Ed smiled fondly as he saw that, despite the water, Oswald’s hair still retained much of its crest like appearance.  
He helped Oswald rise back to his feet and, placing a hand on the back of Oswald’s neck, drew him in for a deep kiss. He felt Oswald go limp in his arms and felt a rush of arousal as he felt the tip of Oswald’s own erection lightly touch his leg as they drew closer.  
A flash of inspiration struck and, reaching beneath the water, Ed took hold of both of their erections at once.

Ed opened his eyes to see Oswald’s widened green orbs gazing back at him, longing for his touch bleeding through the sea green surfaces.  
Ed gazed deep into Oswald’s glass like eyes as he began to pump, luxuriating in the slow buck of Oswald’s hips as Oswald instinctively began to move with Ed’s movements.  
Oswald reached up and linked his arms behind Ed’s head, drawing him back down into another kiss.

This one was harsher, Oswald’s growing arousal and impatience obvious.  
Ed felt Oswald’s sharp, manicured nails run through the hair at the back of his neck as Oswald sucked on his lips, bruising them as he nibbled. Their tongues lashed together like battling serpents, entwining and dancing, the soft friction making both men gasp.  
Ed had ever had a kiss like it and he hungrily battled for dominance, pumping harder as he did.  
Suddenly he felt a warm growing in his stomach and with difficulty, removed his hand from their cocks.  
Unable to hide a smirk at the cry that spilled from Oswald’s lips as he let go of his cock and his lips, Ed looked down at Oswald, brushing a bead of sweat from the shorter man’s flushed face.

‘Oswald, I-I feel so-ah!’

Ed threw his head back at the familiar feeling of Oswald’s fingers on his cock and writhed as he felt Oswald gently rotate his thumb on the soft skin of its head.

‘Warm?’ Oswald prompted.

‘Ready’, Ed breathed, detecting the glistening precum coating Oswald’s long, fingers despite the water.

Oswald swam away from him, looking over his shoulder, ensuring Ed saw his pert, rear end rise above the surface periodically with his movements.  
He went to a ledge built into the side of the pool and sat.  
Ed followed Oswald, heart racing and mouth dry.

‘You want me?’ Oswald asked in a sultry voice, both arms spread and resting on the side of the pool.

Ed nodded. He couldn’t find the words.  
Oswald was just…mesmerising. 

‘Then take me’, Oswald invited and leant back, spreading his legs as wide as his arms.

Ed reached the ledge and through the water, he could see Oswald’s entrance.  
Waiting for him.  
He hadn’t expected it to look so…small.

‘Are, are you sure?’ Ed asked, ‘Have you ever-‘

Oswald placed an imperious finger on Ed’s lips and smiled indulgently.

‘I’m a member of ‘The Foxglove’’, Oswald said, ‘I’m sure’.

He took hold of Ed’s hand and slipped his first two fingers into his mouth. Ed inhaled shakily at the feeling of Oswald lathing his knuckles and the erotic sight of that pink tongue swirling around them.  
Oswald _really_ seemed to know what he was doing.

‘Foxgloves are-are poisonous’, Ed stammered, his brain struggling to focus as his body simultaneously demanded he relinquish control.

Ed knew he couldn’t keep control much longer. Something dark and deep was building up inside him. A beast waiting to be set loose.

‘Only if you don’t know how to handle them’, Oswald purred. ‘Personally, I like it rough. And I’ve been practicing’.

Ed gasped as Oswald directed his prepared fingers beneath the water and inside his entrance. Oswald laughed breathlessly as Ed’s first knuckles slipped in easily and Ed began to manoeuvre them without his help.

‘You’re a natural’, Oswald sighed blissfully as Ed continued probing, his mouth slack at the sensation of his fingers being in such a tight, welcoming passage.

Both men knew the other was thinking the same thing: how would it feel with Ed’s cock in there instead?

‘You said you were ‘practicing’, Ed asked and gasped as Oswald suddenly bucked upwards, eyes wide.

Ed realised he must have hit just the right spot and swelled with success.

‘Practicing for what?’ he concluded.

‘For you’, Oswald whispered, then added, _‘Riddler’._

And just like that, all of Ed’s iron clad control and logical thinking vanished.

Grabbing hold of Oswald’s legs, Ed braced himself at the edge of the ledge and lined his dick up with Oswald’s waiting entrance.  
One final, eager nod from Oswald and Ed plunged in.  
Oswald gave a strangled cry which transformed instantly into a gasp of wonder as he felt Ed physically lift him from the ledge. He wrapped his legs around Ed’s back, drawing him in closer and thrilled at the sensation of being filled so completely.  
Ed was even bigger than he had expected.  
And it was _glorious._

Ed leant forward and breathed into the nape of Oswald’s neck.  
Oswald returned the favour by lightly nibbling Ed’s earlobe.  
Ed growled lustfully and began to thrust.

Oswald smiled in bliss at the devotion behind Ed’s thrusts combined with the tender way Ed held his waist, his fingers firm but not painful as they held him in place.  
The position Ed had chosen was a pleasant surprise.  
This way he could watch.

Ed knew Oswald was watching him and met his eyes.  
He exhilarated as he saw Oswald’s gaze drop, the usual intensity of those green eyes overpowered by desire and silent pleading for Ed to continue.  
So Ed did.

Oswald, elated and overwhelmed, began to moan with each new thrust, carried away on the waves of pleasure as Ed fucked him.  
He had never felt so fulfilled. So loved!  
It was greater than he had ever dreamed and Ed wanted him! Really wanted him!  
Oswald began to move against Ed’s thrusts, enabling him to go deeper. Harder. Faster!

Ed felt like every nerve in his body was alight with pleasure. The electrifying sensation of becoming one with Oswald far more intense than any prior sexual experience he had had. Ed didn’t need to hold back this time. Didn’t need to control the dark little voice that demanded he ram into Oswald again and again. He knew Oswald could take it. He wanted to take it.  
He wanted Ed to take _him._

The sound of the water lapping against their naked bodies as it churned with Ed’s exertions just added to the sensuality of the experience.  
Oswald’s eyes reflected the golden light of the lanterns around the room giving them the look of a bird of prey’s whereas in Ed’s eyes Oswald saw only ebon darkness save for a single golden pinprick of light.

After a few moments, Ed felt a squirming sensation beginning to build in his stomach and shook his head fiercely.  
He gave a low chuckle and leant down to whisper into Oswald’s ear.

‘Don't you dare’, Ed whispered, deliberately slowing his pace, ‘Don't you dare. Make. Me. Cum. First!’

‘Try and stop me then!’ Oswald cried, spurred to the further heights of ecstasy by Ed’s seductive tone, ‘Aah! If! You're! So! Clever! Aah! F- _fuck!’_

‘Beg me’, Ed demanded, awash with stimulation as he felt Oswald desperately clasp him closer, his nails digging into the flesh of Ed’s back.

‘If you stop, I’ll kill you’, Oswald threatened, eyes ablaze with lust.

Ed felt a shiver up his spine at the commanding tone.  
To have the King of Gotham begging for his touch was quite a rush and he was not about to waste the sensation.

‘Big words’, Ed smirked, sweat pouring down his forehead, ‘ _Beg_ me’.

‘Ah! Please’.

‘‘Please’’what? I think you like being mine more than you care to admit’.

Oswald smirked as he heard his own words being used against him but decided to let Ed have his little victory, bored of the preamble and keen to resume proper play.

‘Please…do whatever you want to me’, he gushed, ‘Make me scream. Make me yours. Please _fuck me_ Riddler’.

How could Ed resist such a siren song?

He said nothing, simply drew back, nearly completely withdrawing before thrusting back into Oswald all the way to the hilt.  
Oswald gave an almost tuneful cry, head nodding frantically as Ed did the same thing.  
Again and again and again.  
Until he felt the threshold rise up before him. 

‘Anything. For. You’, Ed whispered harshly through gritted teeth as stars danced behind his eyes and they both fell over the threshold together.

As Oswald came, his back arched causing him to physically rise out of the water. Oswald’s moist lips moved as he silently mouthed Ed’s name and as the lantern light cast golden glimmers on Oswald’s pale flesh, Ed knew he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Ed felt himself cum explosively, still inside Oswald’s passage as it pulsed and quivered around him, as if it refused to release Ed’s dick until it had milked him dry.

Ed, shaking from the force of his orgasm, laid Oswald down gently into the water and withdrew slowly.

Oswald sank down into the water until just his shoulders and head remained above, his head resting against the side of the pool.

Both men breathed deeply, awash with success and the wholesomeness of the afterglow.

Ed sat beside Oswald on the ledge and felt the smaller man curl up against him, head resting on his shoulder.  
Hearing a conspicuous sniff, Ed reached down and wiped a finger beneath Oswald’s eyes.  
He examined the tear on the end of his fingertip with wonder.

‘Did I hurt you?’ Ed asked softly, examining how the tear caught the light like a jewel.

Oswald reached up and took Ed’s hand. He guided the fingertip into his mouth and sucked it, tasting the salt of his tear as he shook his head in answer. His eyes were wet but Ed knew Oswald's tears were not because of sadness.  
They were tears of joy.

Touched by how vulnerable and honest Oswald was, Ed pulled him close and lay back, bringing Oswald with him in a proper lover’s embrace. The water slowly rose to cover them both. Oswald curled into Ed’s chest and Ed positioned one leg over him possessively.  
Oswald laid a hand on Ed’s hip, his fingers lightly tracing a spiral pattern into Ed’s flesh.  
Ed closed his eyes, enjoying the lapping of the water against the sides of the pool. The surface grew still.

‘Ed?’ Oswald whispered.

‘Hmm?’

‘I love you’.

Ed gasped, surprised at the well of happiness inside him at the words: it threatened to choke him. This was no effect of any perfume or cologne. Nor was it the result of infatuation or longing to recapture what he might have had with another.  
He knew the difference now.  
This was _love._

Not trusting himself to speak, Ed placed his hand on top of Oswald’s head, ruffling his hair lovingly as he drew him closer.  
Most of the lanterns had died before he let him go.


	8. His Heart and Soul

Oswald rolled his eyes, only half listening to acting Captain Bullock’s tirade about his ‘poisoned officers’.  
It was hardly poison if they were still alive.  
When Ivy had heard the gunshots all the way out at the front desk, she had done what Oswald had trained her to do and pulled the fire alarm.  
The sprinklers had instantly kicked into gear spraying the entire Lounge with water laced with a decoction Ivy had brewed from some of her ‘special mushrooms’. As soon as the polluted water had made contact with the plants arranged around the Lounge in large urns a potent chemical reaction had been triggered and they had sprayed a non-lethal but highly effective knock out gas throughout the Lounge.  
It had long since dispersed but the GCPD and the ambulance crews that had materialized on the scene were still loading the various unconscious people (GCPD officers, gangsters and club goers alike) onto stretchers.  
Ed was still hiding downstairs while Oswald endured the necessary diplomacy with Gotham’s ‘finest’’.

‘So you’re tellin’ me you let a buncha armed goons in here and act surprised when they get itchy trigger fingers?’

‘Because a bunch of armed police burst in and start pointing guns at people?! Oswald countered, folding his arms, ‘You still haven’t told me why they were here in the first place! What exactly are you accusing me of?’

‘I’m sure there are a few reasons lurkin’ round here’, Bullock said snidely and helped himself to a peanut. It had been a full bowl once but in the confusion of the GCPD bursting in, half of the bowl’s contents had been scattered over the floor.

‘What? You think I’m hiding a criminal empire behind the bar?’

‘Hang on. I’ll check’, Bullock said and Oswald scoffed as he watched Bullock made his way behind the bar.

‘Please by all means, cost me even more money’, Oswald commented, glowering at their surroundings as he heard Bullock’s shoes scrape over the broken glass of a shattered tumbler.

The effect of so many people falling unconscious at once, while invaluable at preventing loss of life, had its drawbacks. Glasses had been smashed as they fell from people’s loosening fingers, furniture had been upset and spent bullet casings littered the floor like fallen popcorn in a movie theatre. 

‘Why were those members of the Maroni family here Penguin?’

Oswald’s stomach twisted as he heard Jim Gordon finally speak. Bullock was an annoyance but Gordon’s presence was a particular insult. He had yet to apologise for Fish and as far as Oswald could see, gotten away scott free with her murder. Because that’s what it had been: murder. They could dress it up as manslaughter but the virus that had infected Jim only freed a person’s true impulses. Oswald knew Gordon had wanted her dead. Oswald knew him better than anybody.

‘I hired them to do a job for me in the spirit of reconciliation’, Oswald said coldly, ‘It was an honest mistake. I know how hard it is for ex-cons to get work inside the law’.

‘Altruism huh?’ Bullock asked, clinking some ice into the glass he was preparing.

Jim gave a quiet laugh at the word and Oswald shot him a glare, assuming Gordon was mocking him.

‘Not quite. I needed their shipping company to move some merchandise and-‘

‘What sort of merchandise?’ Gordon interrupted.

‘More of whatever you dosed these poor saps with?’ Bullock added.

‘One of your men threw a smoke grenade’, Oswald said, ‘Seems some people took a bad reaction to it. You might want to look into that before the lawsuits start hitting the fan’.

‘What sort of merchandise?’ Gordon repeated.

‘Ivy?’ Oswald called.

Ivy came over at his summons, leaving her broom back where she had been sweeping.

‘Bring some of the merchandise over will you?’

Ivy nodded and hastened to the table Oswald had been sitting at with the Maronis before the GCPD had burst in. She picked up the cardboard box beneath the table and brought it over. She put it on the bar and reached inside. Oswald rolled his eyes when he saw Gordon’s hand stray to his sidearm.

‘Ta-daa!’ Ivy smiled and held up a t-shirt taken from the box.

A penguin in a top hat waved from its perch on an iceberg on the soft light blue material. Bullock reached into the box as he took a sip of whiskey and regarded the branded mug he took out: neon blue letters read ‘The Iceberg Lounge’ on the black enamel. He set it down on the bar and took out a pack of playing cards, a matchbook and a pen all emblazoned with the name of the business.

‘Lexcorp is helping us with the branding’, Ivy beamed, ‘Some of their executives really enjoyed their last visit here’.

Bullock and Gordon shared a disbelieving look which, Oswald was glad to see, was mixed with an obvious realization of the mistake they had made.

‘Believe it or not gentlemen, my club is very popular’, Oswald said, ‘At least it is when the GCPD aren’t causing firefights to erupt and my assistant isn’t missing in action’.

‘Where’s your assistant?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Why don’t you just answer the question?’ Bullock asked, taking another sip of whiskey.

‘Because you should know. He ran out of my office earlier when his GCPD heart monitor went off, tried to sell me the pathetic lie that it was a beeper’.

Oswald laughed smugly at the looks of incredulous surprise on their faces and waved a hand dismissively.

‘Don’t look so shocked, give me some credit. You think I don’t know a snitch when I see one? You even capitalized on my former partnership with Edward Nygma’.

‘The glasses and suits were a real nice touch’, Ivy observed, packing the merchandise away again.

‘I would say I was surprised at such an emotionally manipulative move Jim but at this stage nothing you do could make me think any less of you’.

Gordon met Oswald’s angry stare for a few moments before he glanced away. Meanwhile, Ivy left, merchandise in hand.

‘Where were you when the GCPD burst in?’ Gordon eventually asked.

‘I had stepped out for a moment to get some fresh air’.

‘Really? That was lucky. Were you alone?’

‘I was with my new lounge singer’.

‘Doing what?’

‘Things that would likely make your partner very uneasy if I voiced them’, Oswald said, dropping his voice slightly so Bullock wouldn’t hear, ‘Depending on how much detail you require’.

‘Wait a sec, if you knew your assistant was a snitch, then why keep him around?’ Bullock asked, gratefully ignorant of Oswald’s sexual escapades and thankful Owald had dropped his voice when discussing them, ‘Why not blow him up with a rocket launcher? Or burn him like a witch?’

‘Because I don’t do that kind of thing anymore!’ Oswald snapped, ‘And to prove I have nothing to hide. If you want information try coming to me directly next time. If you can stomach it. Oh, speak of the devil’.

All three men watched as Cory, alive and well came hurrying in, adjusting his tie.

‘I am so sorry Mr Cobblepot!’ he cried, holding up a beeper, ‘This darn thing just would not-‘

Oswald held up a hand and Cory’s jaw snapped shut.

‘Cory, escort yourself and the detectives out’, he said, ‘You’re fired’.

‘But sir you can’t-‘

‘Don’t give up your day job officer’, Oswald sniffed, turning his back on the trio, ‘Or is it detective? Not that it matters. Either way I will be making an official complaint about this. Just as soon as I clean up your mess’.

He looked over his shoulder, green eyes flashing angrily.

‘As usual, right Jim?’

 

‘Cory. What the Hell happened in there?’ Bullock demanded as they led Cory to a spot away from the cordon and the ambulances which were now packing up.

As they were standing there, the Lounge’s neon sign went out. Apparently, Oswald had decided to close up early to deal with the mess. 

‘Take it easy Harvey’, Gordon reprimanded, ‘You okay Cory?’

Cory nodded vigorously but then unbuttoned his shirt and showed them his heart monitor. Bullock and Gordon both winced as they saw the red flashing lights on the heart monitor and where Cory had been forced to yank the battery out to stop the incessant alarm.

‘This stupid thing shorted out!’ Cory said, voice heavy with frustration and self-recrimination, ‘Penguin knew what it was right away. I panicked and ran off to try to get it to stop. By the time I pulled the battery out it was too late. I’m sorry’.

‘Why didn’t you call us?!’ Bullock asked, rubbing his face in despair.

He was glad Cory was okay but he was not enjoying the prospect of filling out the paperwork for a bungled operation that had taken weeks to set up.

‘I panicked! I said I’m sorry!’ Cory exclaimed, ‘It’s my first operation! Maybe, maybe I’m not cut out for this’.

Gordon patted the downcast Cory’s shoulder reassuringly. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. It had been their decision to put a rookie in that kind of position. And all because he happened to look a bit like that murderous psycho Edward Nygma. No wonder Penguin had been suspicious! 

‘It’s okay Cory. Just, take a minute okay?’

‘I shoulda never left Metropolis’, the young cop said quietly.

‘Now what? No point placing another plant if penguin's wise to it’.

‘But what about my last report?’ Cory suddenly cried, hope lighting up his face.

‘Merchandise turned out to be t-shirts and bobble heads’, Bullock said.

Cory covered his face with both hands.

‘Don’t take it so hard’, Gordon said, looking at Bullock pointedly, ‘It’s not your fault’.

‘Yeah, yeah. Sorry kid’, Bullock said gently, ‘Just head home and get outta that monkey suit. We’ll talk tomorrow okay?’

 

Cory nodded and walked away, running his hands through his hair distractedly.  
He ducked beneath the cordon, made his way past the gaggle of curious onlookers headed down an alleyway just beside the Monarch Theatre.   
As he passed a pair of dumpsters, Ed stepped out of the darkness to meet him.

‘They bought it?’ he asked.

Cory gave a smile that was not his own which was soon eclipsed by the face of the body’s real owner as Basil Karlo, AKA Clayface, reshaped his visage back into his true form.

‘Barely had to sell it’, he replied, dropping Cory’s earnest tone of voice in favour of his own.

‘But let me guess, no discount?’ Ed asked, offering Basil a roll of crisp, new bills.

‘This was really short notice’, Basil replied, taking the bills and tucking them safely inside his tuxedo pocket. To make room he withdrew the broker GCPD heart monitor they had taken from Cory’s corpse and threw it into the dumpster.

‘And when you get me, you pay for quality’, he concluded, cricking his jaw.

‘Yes I do’, Ed smiled, handing Basil the key he had taken from Cory’s corpse, ‘Go to his apartment and clear it out then tomorrow morning, go to the GCPD and quit. Say you’re going home to Metropolis then head out of town for a few days just to make sure they don’t suspect anything’.

‘Been a while since I had a vacation but this feels a little light for an out of town gig’.

‘Keep all your receipts and you’ll be reimbursed when you return. This is an investment for me, not a vacation for you’.

‘Hey, I’m a professional Mr Nygma’.

Ed stared hard at him and Basil corrected himself, ‘Sorry, Mr Riddler’.

Ed smiled and began to make his way back to the Iceberg Lounge via the escape tunnel Oswald had built into the secret bathhouse. 

 

As he peeked from behind the panel leading back into the Lounge proper, he saw Oswald was alone and smiled as he heard and saw that he was playing the piano on stage.  
They had agreed beforehand that once the coast was clear, Oswald would play a tune to signal Ed it was safe to emerge. Oswald would deal with the GCPD and Ed would deal with their suspicions about Cory. Ed had paid Basil a little extra for coming so quickly and carrying out such complex orders so efficiently.   
Ed recognised the song Oswald was playing: ‘Heart and Soul’. Oswald had told him it had been the first tune he had learnt to play on the piano the whole way through. It had been Ed’s first too.  
He slid the panel back and emerged. He eyed the damage regretfully and righted a couple of toppled tables on his way to the stage.

'It's done then', Oswald said, continuing to play.

Ed nodded. He knew it wasn’t a question.

'Looks like I’m going to need a new lounge singer’, Oswald said ruefully, ‘It's a shame the wages I owed you went to your associate'.

'It's for the best. It's my fault the GCPD came here after all'.

'At least Ivy got some fresh fertiliser out of it', Oswald commented, smiling as Ed sat beside him at the piano. They were so close they were almost touching.

'Yeah, I'll, I'll have to see her before I leave’, Ed said quietly, tactfully pretending not to notice as Oswald missed a key due to his words, ‘To say ‘thank you’'.

'Oh'.

Oswald continued to play and Ed joined in, occasionally pressing a key to harmonise with the tune. The emptiness of the Lounge and lack of microphone made the song seem louder than it was.

'Do you have a safehouse you can go to?' Oswald said after a few minutes of silence.

'Several'.

'Good’, Oswald said, resting his hands on his lap as he stopped playing, ‘That's good'.

Almost like a reflexive cough or sneeze, the words burst out of Ed before he could stop them or arrange them into a coherent sentence.

'I don't have to...You know I could-'

He stopped talking when he saw Oswald shake his head.  
Both men looked down at the piano seeing their blurred reflections staring back at them. Both had the same sad expression on their face.

They both knew Ed couldn’t stay. They had both agreed on that when they had been getting dressed after their encounter downstairs.  
It was too risky. Even if they allayed the GCPD’s suspicions this time it would only be a matter of time before they would be back and despite the convincing story they had told, Oswald did indeed have his fingers in multiple criminal enterprises that he had tactically kept hidden from Cory’s prying eyes. It had been sheer luck that the GCPD had burst in while Oswald had been discussing legitimate business with the Maronis and that they had not discovered Ed in the process.

For Ed, there was another, more personal reason.  
He had been out of the game for months. While he enjoyed working as a Lounge singer it would never satisfy him forever. It wasn’t who he was.  
The Riddler needed to come back to Gotham and Ed had to rediscover him before he could.  
He couldn’t do that working under someone else.  
No matter how much he may care for the particular ‘someone’.

'Despite how things...started, I actually really liked working here', Ed said, 'I hope you know that'.

'A gilded cage is still a cage', Oswald said sadly, 'And songbirds sing sweetest when they're free'.

‘That’s very poetic’, Ed praised, ‘And very true’.

He raised an eyebrow as he saw Oswald was offering him something. A silver key attached to a silver chain lay in his open palm, the Iceberg Lounge logo imprinted on its smooth surface.

'Is this?’

'So you can always come back’, Oswald confirmed, ‘But only if you want to'.

Ed stood and placed the key around his neck. As he tucked it inside his shirt, he touched it as it settled beside his heart.

'I'll come back', he promised.

‘Take whatever you need before you go’, Oswald said, turning his attention back to the piano.

Ed simply nodded and, sensing the conversation was over, turned on his heel and began to descend the stairs.

He told himself it was better this way: easier to leave without any showing of affection. But he couldn’t stop the ache in his chest as he felt the distance between he and Oswald grow like an open wound.  
Nor could he stop the leap of joy his stomach gave as he heard the telltale noise of Oswald’s limping gait coming up behind him.

He didn’t turn as he felt Oswald throw his arms around his waist. He just stopped and closed his eyes, feeling the firm grasp.

‘I’ll miss you', Oswald said in a tight voice, ‘I know you’ll come back but we’ve just…I mean, we kissed and…I’ll just miss you’.

Ed turned and ruffled Oswald’s hair, smiling down at him fondly.

'Don't. We’ll have all the time in the world. I just have preparations to make'.

'What'll you do?' Oswald asked, distracted by the relish in Ed’s voice and the wicked glitter in his eyes.

'You'll see’, Ed promised,’ Gotham’s not going to know what's hit it’.

He took Oswald’s face in both hands and leant in, dark eyes gazing deep into transfixed green.

‘Will you be watching?' he asked.

'With baited breath', Oswald smiled, white, sharp teeth peeking over his pink lips as they drew closer to Ed’s.

The kiss was feather light but both men recognised it for what it was. A taster: a promise of more to come. The kind of kiss a lover would give a knight before embarking on a perilous but rewarding quest.

‘When I’m up on that stage, I’ll be thinking of you’, Ed swore then left, tuxedo jacket whipping around him like a cape.

Oswald chuckled at the theatrical declaration even as he touched his lips, savouring the lingering warmth of the kiss. Ed left, throwing the doors open wide. One swing and he was gone.

‘I’ll be waiting’, Oswald promised.


End file.
